Nobody Does it Better
by Maggie Penhale
Summary: A continuation of the story I Want To Hold Your Hand, which I strongly suggest you read first. The further adventures of Dr. Stirling Aylesworth, Sergeant Joseph Penhale and other residents of Portwenn, a small fishing village located along the north coast of Cornwall. This story begins about two years after the end of Series 6.
1. Chapter 1

**The characters and situations associated with the TV program _Doc Martin_ are the property of Buffalo Pictures. All I own is an overactive imagination.**

**I appreciate any feedback and advice from readers willing to share.**

* * *

August 13 – today is Dr. Stirling Aylesworth's 34th birthday. All day, as she examines sprained wrists, enormous hemorrhoids, and ingrown toenails, she's been looking forward to a quiet night at home with her fiance, take-out fish and chips from The Crab and Lobster, and a warm bubble bath for two in her claw-footed tub.

Instead, she sits shivering in the middle of the Portwenn lifeboat, dressed in survival gear and a life jacket, her hair plastered to her head by driving rain, surrounded by big burly fishermen-types, en route to a large container ship located several miles off the rugged north coast of Cornwall in the rough Celtic Sea. Tucked inside a waterproof bag, she hugs her doctor's bag to her chest like it's a newborn baby, petrified it's going to be ripped from her arms by the next rogue wave.

She is absolutely, positively, fill your boots terrified.

Stirling is tempted to look behind her, to see exactly how far the craft has ventured past the protective break walls of the Portwenn harbour. But she's afraid she might honk-up her lunch. Instead, she stares straight ahead at the horizon, hoping to catch a glimpse of the ship they're aiming toward.

They've been fighting the sea and the wind for the past hour. A freak summer storm hit the area earlier that morning and is currently dumping unseasonable rain along the coast, including Portwenn. The storm is also churning up the waves, resulting in very rough conditions. There had been some uncertainty whether the lifeboat could deploy in such rough seas but the captain decided it was worth the risk, considering the deteriorating condition of the container ship's ill crew member – explaining Stirling's presence in the lifeboat.

A landlubber by choice, only a serious and life threatening situation would convince her to go out on the water in any boat, let alone the Portwenn lifeboat, something Stirling considers a glorified dinghy. And based on the conversations she had with the ship's captain earlier in the day, she's convinced that's what's facing her aboard the Sonnet's Wind.

She's wondering if she should be praying to Poseidon, the Greek God of the Sea, for about the 15th time when she feels someone tap her on the shoulder. She looks over at the lifeboat captain, who points to the northwest. A large ship can be seen tossing on the rough waves. She gives him the thumbs up, relieved to finally have their destination in sight.

About 15 minutes later, the lifeboat manages to pull up alongside the huge ship. It's only then Stirling wonders how the hell she's going to get from the tiny lifeboat to the hulking container carrier, especially considering the rough sea. She almost pees her pants when the harness is lowered down to them.

"Put your upper body through this and fit it under your arms," the lifeboat captain yells in Stirling's ear, helping her into the safety harness. She clips her doctor's bag to one of the D-rings attached to the belt of her survival suit and waits to be hoisted away.

As soon as her feet leave the safety of the lifeboat, she feels like she's going to be sick. But she manages to keep the bile from rising too high in her throat. The winds buffet her from side to side as she is quickly lifted. Luckily, she never strikes the side of the vessel.

Within minutes, she is grabbed and pulled onto the ship's soaked and slippery deck. Several crew members help her remove the harness and one grabs her by the arm to lead her to the bridge.

Inside the ship, the floor continues to heave and rock dangerously but at least they are out of the rain and the wind. Stirling almost begins to feel secure. Following the crew member, she climbs several flights of stairs before she enters a glass fronted room looking out over the long, flat deck of the ship, which is currently stacked with layer upon layer of steel rectangular shipping containers.

A grey-haired man wearing a ball cap approaches Stirling, offering his hand.

"I'm Captain Baxter," he says with a strong Scandinavian accent.

_Baxter?_ she thinks, wondering how he ended up with such an un-Scandinavian sounding last name.

"I'm Dr. Stirling Aylesworth," she says, shaking his hand. "Where's my patient?"

"We moved him to my quarters, which are just one level down," he explains, leading her to a smaller flight of stairs. "We don't have a medical bay on this ship but I couldn't keep him in his bunk bed."

After descending one level, Captain Baxter leads her down a short hall into a small bedroom. A young man in his twenties lies on a single bed in the room, moaning and rocking in pain. He's being watched by two other crew members who look completely terrified.

Stirling unclips her doctor's bag and unbuckles her survival suit belt, eventually shrugging out of the top half of the suit so she can move her arms more freely. Underneath, she wears a black T-shirt. She approaches the side of the bed, reaching out gently to touch the young man's stomach. As soon as her fingers touch his belly, he shrieks in pain.

"How long has he been like this?" she asks, opening her doctor's bag and digging out an ear thermometer. She sticks it in his right ear and tries to hold his head still until she can get a proper reading.

"It started yesterday afternoon," the captain says. "Odin complained of a sharp pain in his stomach. It wasn't all the time; it came and went. By dinner, he was in bed, too ill to eat. His moaning and vomiting woke his bunk mates in the middle of the night. We moved him here early this morning and contacted the British Coastguard."

Stirling's thermometer beeps and she looks at the readout, flinching as she records the numbers.

"He's running a very high temperature. I'm pretty sure it's appendicitis. I'm not sure whether his appendix has burst or not but we need to get him off this ship and into hospital quickly. His appendix needs to come out right now."

The captain looks pale.

"I've tried to get the coastguard to send out a helicopter but they've been unwilling because of the high winds," he explains.

Stirling looks at the young man writhing in pain.

"Let me talk to them. You get them on the radio while I make him more comfortable, give him a bit of something to help with the pain. I'll be up in a few minutes."

She looks around the room.

"Do you have somewhere I can wash my hands?"

"The head's over there," the captain says, pointing to a small sliding door in the wall that looks like it leads to a cupboard.

Inside, Stirling scrubs her hands thoroughly with soap and water before drying them with copious amounts of paper towel. Only then does she slip on her gloves and fill a syringe with a healthy dose of pain killer. She injects it quickly in his right arm and watches as he almost immediately begins to relax. His shipmates grin at Stirling as the moaning and rocking ceases.

"I haven't cured him," she mutters, unbuttoning her patient's shirt and gently removing it. She also undoes his trousers, pulling them slowly off leg by leg.

She gently palpates his stomach, starting at the top and moving clockwise, watching his sweat streaked face for any sign of pain. As she moves to the right lower quadrant, he flinches and cries out.

"Shit," she mutters.

She pulls some blankets up from the bottom of the bed and covers her patient.

"Keep him covered," she says to his two crew mates, who both smile and nod.

_I hope they understand me_, she thinks as she climbs the stairs back up to the bridge.

The captain is on the radio, arguing with someone.

"They are still refusing," he explains to her.

Stirling grabs the radio microphone.

"This is Dr. Stirling Aylesworth aboard the Sonnet's Wind. Who am I speaking with?"

Silence.

"You have to say 'over.'" whispers Captain Baxter.

Stirling rolls her eyes in frustration.

"This is Dr. Stirling Aylesworth aboard the Sonnet's Wind. Who am I speaking with? Over."

"This is Watch Officer Smythe at Maritime Rescue Co-ordination Centre Swansea. Over"

"Watch Officer Smythe, I have a patient in his early to mid-twenties who is going to die in the next six hours if he is not transported off this ship and taken to hospital immediately. He has all the symptoms of acute appendicitis and, if it hasn't already happened, his appendix will most likely burst in the next few hours. When that happens, the toxins from his infected appendix will spread through his body, resulting in peritonitis and septicemia and, ultimately, death. Let me assure you, it's not a nice way to go. I need a coastguard helicopter out here pronto. Over."

"Dr. Aylesworth, our helicopters are currently grounded due to high winds and dangerous conditions in your location. Over."

"I couldn't give a rat's ass how high the wind is, Watch Officer Smythe," Stirling says. "I need a helicopter out here NOW! OVER!"

The radio is silent.

"Let me contact my Watch Manager. Over"

"You do that Watch Officer Smythe. Over."

A few minutes later, a new voice comes over the radio and Stirling explains what she needs.

"Dr. Aylesworth, our helicopters are currently grounded due to high winds and dangerous conditions in your location. Over."

_Do they work off a prepared script?_ she wonders.

"And as I explained to Watch Officer Smythe, I don't give a rat's ass. I have a man dying out here. He needs to be in hospital. Send me a bloody helicopter! And if you don't have the authority to do so, patch me through to someone who does. Because I'm running out of time!"

Ultimately, Stirling is put through to the District Officer with her request.

"I have a man dying out here off the north coast of Cornwall. He needs to be transported to hospital yesterday. I don't care if you have to call Prince William out of retirement or pull Prince Harry off his Army desk job in London, I need a helicopter pilot with enough goolies to fly out here and save this young man's life. OVER!"

"Give me 30 minutes. Over."

"I don't know if I have 30 minutes but I'll take it. Over."

Stirling hands the radio mike back to the captain.

"Monitor the radio and let me know what's happening. I need to get Odin ready for transport."

Stirling rushes back down to the captain's room and checks on her patient. He's starting to moan and move again. She tops up his painkiller meds and checks his temperature and heart rate.

_Bad, bad, bad_, she thinks. _They better send that helicopter or I'm going to need to operate on a man using no anaesthesia and a bottle of whiskey for sterilizing the equipment._

With the help of his crew mates, she wraps Odin in several blankets and fits a safety harness on his body so he can be carried by four men through the narrow halls and stairs of the ship to the deck.

Ten minutes later, she hears the Captain shout down the stairs.

"Helicopter approaching, Doctor."

"Thank fucking god," Stirling mutters, getting her four helpers to pick up Odin and move him outside. She follows with her doctor's bag, zipping the top of her survival suit closed.

Out on deck, after several failed attempts, the helicopter crew finally manages to drop down a stretcher for her patient. The crew lifts Odin in and carefully straps him down.

"You're going to have to ride up with him," Captain Baxter shouts in her ear.

Stirling looks at him like he's lost his mind.

"What!"

"They can't risk two lifts. You're going to have to ride up on the stretcher with Odin. They need you to keep him stable for the flight to the hospital."

_This has to be the most horrific birthday of my entire life_, Stirling thinks, placing her doctor's bag into the stretcher basket and climbing in, situating herself in the centre area and bracing her feet on either side of the patient.

She holds up the loop as the attachment cable is lowered. It takes several attempts but eventually the two cables are attached, luckily with minimal electric shock due to the static build up.

Stirling squats down on the stretcher and braces her feet as it begin to lift. She balances herself further by gripping the centre support cables. As the basket sways back and forth in the wind, she wonders who she pissed off in a past life to warrant this kind of cruel and unusual punishment.

_Come out to the coast, become a GP, live the adventure_, she mentally mutters.

As soon as the winch brings the stretcher horizontal with the helicopter's side door, one of the flight crew snags it with a hook, pulls it into the body of the flying vehicle and closes the door. Instantly, the helicopter veers away from the container ship on its way to the mainland.

Stirling scrambles out of the stretcher, dragging her bag with her.

"Dr. Aylesworth, I presume," says the flight crew member, shaking hands with her. "You sure put a burr up the arse of our District Officer. He was begging for volunteers. I haven't been scared out of my mind in a while so I signed on. I'm Captain Kingston and the idiot flying this bird is Flight Captain Osgoode. Welcome aboard."

"Thank you, Captain," Sterling says. "You both have most likely saved this man's life."

She monitors Odin's vitals during the 10-minute flight to Truro, the closest hospital to their location.

As the helicopter settles on the landing pad and the side door opens, Stirling's not at all surprised to see her Chief among the first responding hospital staff.

Dr. Martin Ellingham serves pretty much as a full-time surgeon at the Truro hospital, putting in one day per week as a GP at the Portwenn surgery. A life or death emergency appendectomy is just his style.

"Good afternoon, Chief," she says, hopping out of the helicopter and trotting behind her patient as he is wheeled into the hospital. She briefs the Doc as quickly as she can regarding the medications she has administered, his last recorded vitals and her thoughts on how the appendicitis is presenting.

She stops outside the surgery doors.

"Good luck, Chief," she says as he enters.

"Good work, Dr. Aylesworth," he says before shutting the operating room door.

As Stirling walks out of the surgical wing and into the main area of the hospital, she grins. The Chief has never praised her before. Ever.

She throws her doctor's bag in the air in celebration, watching it rotate three times before catching it on the way down.

"Aces!" she shouts, startling several people walking by in the hall, who turn to stare at the strange woman in the orange jumpsuit and life jacket who resembles a half-drowned poodle with her frizzy auburn hair.

Stirling is still silently celebrating when she enters the main entrance hall of the hospital. She's about to walk out the front doors and hail a cab when the hears a very familiar voice call her name.

"Stirling!"

She turns around and spots him, grinning as she runs towards him, leaping into his arms and wrapping her long legs around his waist. Her assault almost knocks him over but he manages to keep his balance, putting his arms around her bottom to support her weight while leaning forward to kiss her.

Several people walking by turn to stare at the strange sight – a woman in an orange survival suit and life jacket passionately kissing a Devon and Cornwall Police sergeant in the middle of the Truro hospital reception area.

"What are you doing here, lover boy?" she teases after breaking away from their kiss, her arms around his shoulders and legs still wrapped around his waist.

"The coastguard said this was where I'd be able to find you," he says, giving her another quick peck. "So I put on the blues and twos and raced the Land Rover down here so I could give you a ride home. No cab-ride home for the birthday girl."

"Aren't you sweet," she says, kissing him again.

Reluctantly, he pulls away from her lips, setting her down so he can look her up and down.

"You do realize you're wearing a life jacket over a rather vibrantly coloured survival suit, even though you're currently standing on dry land?"

"But isn't this what all fashionably dressed lifeboat GPs are wearing these days?" she asks.

He smiles, leaning in to kiss her again.

"I love you, Dr. Stirling Aylesworth," he whispers.

"And I love you, Sergeant Joseph Penhale."


	2. Chapter 2

It's still overcast and rainy as the pair leave the shelter of the Truro hospital, scampering through the car park hand in hand to the Land Rover. Stirling unbuckles, unzips and shrugs out of her life jacket before climbing in the passenger side. She's starting to unzip her survival suit when Joe clears his throat.

She looks over at him.

"Uhhh, you do have something on under that?" he asks, looking around the hospital car park nervously.

Stirling laughs, lowering the zipper slowly.

"Want to know?" she asks teasingly, giving him a big wink.

Joe blushes and swallows with an audible gulp as he watches the zipper move lower, making her laugh harder.

"Don't worry, I'm wearing a T-shirt," she says, unzipping the suit to her waist and pulling her arms out of the sleeves.

"How disappointing," he says, starting the Land Rover and backing out of the parking spot.

Stirling shifts over to the middle of the bench seat and clips on the lap belt. She leans her head against Joe's left shoulder and closes her eyes with a sigh of contentment.

"Tired?" he asks as they drive out of Truro on the A30, en route to Portwenn.

He puts his arm around her, allowing her to snuggle more closely against him.

"Yes," she says with a yawn. "It's exhausting to be absolutely terrified."

"That scary?"

"Petrifying. I'm not cut out for adventures on the high sea."

She looks up at him.

"I just wanted to have a quiet birthday at home with you, some take away, and a bubble bath."

Joe glances at his watch and puts his foot down on the accelerator.

"There's still time," he says.

Stirling smiles and closes her eyes again. Five minutes later, she's asleep.

Joe can feel the difference as she relaxes against his side. He smiles as he supports her body with his left arm, trying to keep her head from bouncing off his shoulder as he motors along the roadway.

* * *

It's dark when Stirling opens her eyes. Joe is smiling at her from the open passenger side door.

"And the birthday girl awakes."

"Was I asleep long?" she asks, yawning and stretching at the same time.

"Well, we're home," he says, backing away from the door so she can jump out. The Land Rover is already parked beside the surgery and it has stopped raining.

"Wow, I must have been tired," Stirling says, grabbing her doctor's bag and shutting the vehicle door.

It's then she notices the brown paper bags in Joe's hands.

"What's that?"

"Take away," he says with a smile. "You were muttering something about fish and chips in your sleep so I ordered some from The Crab and Lobster and picked it up on my way by."

She laughs.

"I should talk in my sleep more often. Maybe I can put in an order for an engagement ring and a new acoustic guitar."

Stirling's guitar has been missing since Portwenn's spring talent show when it disappeared from the backstage area. Nothing has been seen of it since. It has proven to be quite the mystery for Joe, who has searched every second hand shop and used music store around the area looking for it. At first, he had thought Stirling's ex-boyfriend, Spencer Graham, had taken it. But after Spencer's death last May and the subsequent investigation, it still hasn't been found.

"I don't know about the guitar but you know the condition attached to the engagement ring," Joe says as they climb the flagstone stairs and walk around to the back of the surgery. "Until you give me a date, no ring."

For the past few weeks, basically since Stirling agreed to marry Joe, they have been bickering about a date for the wedding. He wants to get married as soon as possible while she has – in typical Stirling fashion – been dragging her feet. In desperation, he set the ultimatum – they need to pick a date they can both agree to before an engagement ring can be purchased.

"You're such a bully," she says with a smile as she unlocks the back door and flicks on the kitchen lights.

"It's so good to be home and dry," she sighs, sitting down at the kitchen table and pulling off her waterproof boots. She unzips the survival suit the rest of the way and pulls her feet out of the elastic cuffed legs.

She stands up and stretches again, throwing the survival suit over the back of a kitchen chair.

Joe sets the bags of take away on the kitchen counter and turns toward Stirling to ask if she wants to eat right away. The question dies in his throat as he watches her wander into the piano room, wearing a black T-shirt and what appears to be very little else. The shirt is just long enough to cover her front and bottom.

He stares, excitement flaring deep in his belly. Or it might be hunger. Of course, at this point he doesn't really care.

Stirling touches the keyboard of her baby grand piano – a gift from her good friends Michael, Christopher and Leyland who live in London – and gently plays a short little tune before turning back toward the kitchen. It's then she notices Joe.

"What's the matter?" she asks, puzzled by his intense stare.

He gulps.

"Are – are you wearing pants?" he asks.

Stirling looks down at her long shirt and bare legs. She smiles mischievously.

"Yes, I am," she says in a sexy voice. "See?"

She pinches both sides of her T-shirt just below her breasts and slowly lifts the material, inching the bottom hem higher and higher until it uncovers her lacy pants.

She looks up at Joe, who is still standing in the kitchen, staring with his mouth slightly open. Several very long seconds pass. No one moves.

And then Stirling spins on the balls of her feet, running toward the front of the house. Joe ducks down the side hall with the low ceiling and turns right into the dark waiting room. He doesn't have enough time to brace for the collision as she runs straight into him, knocking him backwards on his arse. But he has enough sense to hang on to her as she falls on top of him. She laughs as she tries to squirm out of his grip but he's not letting go.

"Gotcha," he says, grabbing her behind the neck and drawing her lips down to his. He kisses her, managing to move his head just in time as she tries to bite his bottom lip.

"You want to play rough?" he asks, laughing as he rolls on top of her, his hands going up the inside of her shirt.

And that's when the room is suddenly flooded with light.

"SURPRISE!" says a chorus of voices as the consulting room door opens, a group of people rushing out into the waiting room. The front door opens almost immediately after, allowing even more people to flood into the surgery, also shouting "SURPRISE!"

And then there is silence.

Joe looks down at Stirling, who is trying her best to hide her face with her hands while burrowing into his armpit. He looks up slowly, counting about two dozen legs standing in front of him. He shifts his body and looks slowly over his right shoulder, counting about 20 more by the front entrance.

He does the math quickly.

_Basically, there's about 22 people standing around the surgery looking at me lying in a sexual manner on top of a half-dressed Stirling with my hands up her shirt_, he thinks. _Aces!_

He looks down again at Stirling, who has shifted her fingers so she can peek between them. She's looking up at him, her eyes begging for help.

Those same eyes suddenly widen with shock as a familiar voice echoes through the room.

"Okay, what's going on here? Oh! My! God! Stop that this instant! This is a waiting room, not your own personal rumpy-pumpy room!"

"Martin!" scolds Louisa, who is obviously with him.

Joe looks down at Stirling and shuts his eyes in embarrassment, mortification and defeat, his forehead hitting the floor beside her with a resounding bang.

And then a calm, Irish-lilting voice of reason is heard.

"Everyone, just turn around and go back to where you were hiding," says Leyland, taking over. "I think this is a situation that calls for what I believe is termed a do-over."

Stirling blushes as she hears Michael's laughing voice echo through the room

"I'm sure he wants to do-her-over," he chuckles.

"Out you go, Mr. Michael," Leyland says.

There is much rumbling and grumbling but as Joe opens his eyes and lifts his throbbing head, he sees the numerous feet in front of him turn around and go back into the consulting room, closing the door behind them. And then the front door behind him closes.

"Leyland?" Stirling calls in a stage whisper. "Is it safe?"

"Yes, Miss Stirling."

Joe quickly jumps up, helping her to her feet. He turns and finds Leyland standing with his back to the room, providing them with a small amount of privacy.

He turns to look at a red-faced Stirling.

"I swear I had no idea," he says desperately.

She looks at him and laughs.

"I know," she says, giving him a quick kiss of reassurance. "Was that as horrifyingly embarrassing for you as it was for me?"

She pulls down her T-shirt as far as she can.

"I'm just going to run upstairs and get dressed, okay?"

Joe is suddenly terrified.

"Don't leave me down here to greet these people alone!" he begs as he grabs her arm, desperation in his voice.

"I can't stay down here half naked!"

"I'll make them wait until you return, Miss Stirling," says Leyland calmly.

"There," she says, patting Joe's pale cheek. "You won't have to face them alone. We can experience the humiliation together."

She quickly runs up the stairs and into the bedroom. Joe can hear the wardrobe doors being yanked open and dresser drawers being pulled opened and slammed closed. Water runs in the upstairs washroom.

Joe clears his throat.

"When did you, Michael and Christopher arrive from London?" he asks, trying to fill the awkward silence.

"We came in on the afternoon train," says Leyland, his hands clasped formally behind his back. "We arranged to have a rental car at the station when we arrived. You wouldn't have noticed the black BMW parked down by The Crab and Lobster when you arrived back from Truro."

"No, we didn't," Joe mutters.

"Mr. Michael and Mr. Christopher have been planning for several weeks to come up and surprise Miss Stirling for her birthday. They obviously should have called ahead and informed you of their plans."

"Yes, they should have."

"My apologies."

"No apologies needed, Patrick," assures Joe. "I'm sure it wasn't your idea to hide a dozen people in the consulting room and have another 10 rush through the front door, catching us in the middle of a somewhat private moment."

"No, Joe, it wasn't."

"Thank you for helping us out."

"Yes, thank you, Leyland," Stirling echoes as she comes quickly down the stairs in her red party dress with black polka-dots.

She grabs Joe's hand and smiles at him.

"Ready?" she whispers.

"You look beautiful," he says.

She smiles and reaches up to push back his hair.

"Okay, let's try this again," she says to Leyland, who switches off the waiting room lights.

* * *

Somehow, they manage to live through the whole "SURPRISE!" element of the party for the second time while still retaining a small shred of their dignity. Over the course of the evening, they face a constant barrage of teasing, especially from Michael.

"Talk about being caught with your pants down," he roars, Scotch in hand. "You didn't even have any on, Ling-Ling!"

"Actually Michael, I was wearing pants," she says, sipping from her ice water. "It was trousers I was missing."

"And you!" Michael says, turning on a red-faced Joe. "That was a hell of a take-down, Sergeant. You had her right where you wanted her. Were you going to use the handcuffs next? I saw you were frisking her. Who knows what kind of weapon she might have been secreting up her shirt. Smart thinking."

Stirling rolls her eyes at him.

"That's enough, Michael. Please find a new subject to bother us with unceasingly. Or do I have to get Leyland to cut you off?"

The Irish gentleman's gentleman has been put in charge of Stirling's skimpy bar reserves. As a non-drinker, she doesn't have much alcohol in the house, just enough for occasional company. Tonight's entourage – consisting mostly of Portwenn residents – is proving to be a thirsty one and is quickly depleting her reserves.

"I have a feeling this gathering is going to have to move down the hill," she says to Morwenna and Louisa, who are both sipping the last of the red wine.

Stirling glances over at the Doc, who is gripping a glass of water as he scowls at the piano room carpet. His aunt, Dr. Ruth Ellingham, is sipping from her half glass of wine as she discusses something with him.

"Did the Chief mention anything to you about an emergency appendectomy he performed late this afternoon?" she asks Louisa.

"Yes, he said it went well. Luckily, the young man's appendix hadn't burst but it was very close. He said the attending GP did an impressive job getting the man transported to hospital by coastguard helicopter as quickly as possible, despite the nasty weather. Horrible weather today for flying helicopters."

Stirling nods in agreement, going over the words "impressive job" in her mind. She grins over at the Chief who looks up and gives her a puzzled look before returning to his chat with Ruth.

She wanders over to her pitiful bar selection.

"Am I dry yet, Leyland?" she asks.

"One shot of gin and a couple fingers of Scotch left but nothing for Mr. Christopher's martinis and no wine."

She sighs, climbs up on one of her kitchen chairs and gives a shrill whistle.

All conversation ceases as guests turn to stare at her.

"Okay everyone, the Stirling Aylesworth free birthday bar service has now ceased operation. If you wish to continue this merriment with an alcoholic bevvy in your hand, you will need to trot out the front door, turn right and stagger down the hill before entering the well-lit pub down by the harbour. My understanding is Michael Aubrey, Esquire, will be covering the drinks bill. Cheers!"

"Cheers!" most of the crowd answers back, immediately moving toward the front door. As they pass Michael, they slap him enthusiastically on the back, thanking him for his wonderful generosity.

"That was very well played, No-Trousers Aylesworth," Michael says as she jumps down from her chair-top perch. "Very well played. Not only have you managed to clear most of the people from your little love nest, you've also succeeded in leaving me on the hook for a rather expensive bar bill."

"And you've succeeded in disrupting a nice quiet evening I had planned, embarrassing Joe and I in front of a large group of villagers, while also drinking me out of house and home," she says, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Have fun down at The Crab and Lobster. I'll see you in the morning."

Gently but firmly, she escorts Michael to the front door, followed by Christopher and Leyland.

"Goodnight boys," she says, waving as they walk out the door.

The Doc, Louisa and Ruth also say goodnight, leaving Stirling and Joe alone in the house for the first time in hours.

She locks the front door quickly and leans against it, looking relieved.

"Thank god! I thought they would never leave!"

She looks over at Joe, who is wandering around the piano room, cleaning up glasses, plates and garbage.

"Stop that this instant!" she says in a deep, Doc-like voice. "You're my fiance, not some man servant!"

Joe laughs as she walks over to him in an almost perfect imitation of the Doc's rapid, arm-swinging stride. She puts her arms around his shoulders and kisses him gently.

"That can wait," she says. "Where were we before we were so rudely interrupted?"

"Well, as I recall, you had a lot less clothing on. And there weren't so many lights."

He glances over at the empty kitchen counter.

"Unfortunately, some unexpected people ate all our take away but I can make us something else instead."

Stirling kisses him again and bends his neck down to whisper in his ear.

"I'm not hungry for take away or any food for that matter."

She gives him a wink.

"I'll lock the back door," Joe says quickly, spinning around to rush into the kitchen.

"And I'll get the water running," says Stirling, scampering into the waiting room and up the stairs.

A few minutes later, as she tests the temperature again and pours a dollop of bubble bath into the running water, she hears Joe's footsteps coming up the stairs and into the bedroom.

"Ready to get your back scrubbed?" she asks, walking into the bedroom.

"Happy Birthday," says Joe, holding out a black guitar case with a big red bow on it.

Stirling stops in shock.

"I know it's not your original and it can't really be replaced but I know you miss playing. I thought you might want to stay in practice using a different guitar for now, that is until I find your old one."

Stirling stands still, staring at the case in his hands, her eyes shining.

"Oh, Joe!" she finally says, taking the case gently from him and setting it on the bed. She opens it carefully and looks at the acoustic guitar nestled inside. It's almost an exact replica of her old one.

"I even had someone embroider your name on the strap, just like you described," he says. "It should be in tune."

She takes the guitar out and plucks her thumb along the strings.

"It's beautiful," she says, looking up at him and giving him that smile he loves so much.

She sets the guitar back in its case gently before she wraps her arms around Joe.

"Thank you," she says, giving him a big kiss. "It's perfect."

They kiss again, and again, the passion and pressure of their kisses building. And then Stirling hears a sound remarkably similar to a waterfall. She breaks her lips away from Joe's, spinning around with a gasp.

"The water!"

She rushes into the washroom, slipping and sliding in the bubbles and water that has overflowed the tub onto the floor. She manages to turn off the faucet before she loses her footing, falling on her arse in a soapy wet puddle.

Joe watches her from the doorway, trying not to laugh.

"I'll go get some extra towels from downstairs," he says, turning and rushing from the bedroom as quickly as he can.

Stirling can hear him laughing as he runs all the way down the stairs.

_Thank god I only have one birthday a year_, she thinks.


	3. Chapter 3

Stirling opens her eyes to dull grey morning light.

It's early; she can tell just from the way the shadows have lightened only slightly in her bedroom. It's much too early to be thinking about waking up or getting out of bed.

She's wondering what has woken her when she feels his touch, his left hand moving up and down her hip and thigh, his lips on the back of her neck.

She rolls over to face Joe.

"Someone's awake early," she says, stretching and smiling.

He leans forward and kisses her gently.

"I kept having these dreams about water," he says softly. "There were rivers and streams and waterfalls. There was bloody water everywhere. I had to get up and use the loo several times in the night."

She gives him a dirty look as he chuckles.

"You're a wanker, you know that?" she says, shoving his shoulder playfully. "I don't need to put up with this abuse, in my own bed and in my own house."

She rolls over so her back is to him again.

He slides up close behind her, whispering something in her ear as he nuzzles his lips against her neck and wraps his arms around her. She gasps at what he says just as he touches her in a way that makes her shiver.

She turns back toward him, feigning shock.

"You have a very dirty mind, Joe Penhale," she says in mock outrage.

She puts her arms around his body and kisses him passionately as he grips her body to him, running his fingers through her hair.

"And I love it," she murmurs between kisses.

He rolls on top of her and begins moving his lips down her neck and shoulders to her breasts.

Stirling groans her appreciation.

One thing about Joe, he's taken the love making aspect of their relationship very seriously. Every day, he's ready, willing and able to arouse and satisfy her and does so, sometimes multiple times. And she is always game to reciprocate.

But Stirling knows what he's up to, and she's been teasing him about it for the past week.

"You're trying to force me to set a date," she accused him one night as she relaxed in his arms, content and satisfied. "I've seen through your cunning plan."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he had said, kissing the top of her head.

"You think you're so smart, weaving some tale about leaving the possibility of our having children together in fate's hands," she said. "But I know what's going on. You're on the attack; carpet bombing.

She had rolled onto her stomach so she could look him in the eyes, her own dancing with amusement.

"You're trying to get me preggers so I'll be forced to marry you right away."

"I am not," he said, appearing horrified. "I don't think I like what you're hinting at."

"Hinting at?" she laughed. "There's no hinting involved. I know!"

He had leaned forward and kissed her.

"I think you're getting paranoid, Doctor. Now, if you and I could just settle on a date – say, I don't know, a wedding a few weeks time – you could just relax."

"A few weeks time? Relax? You're obviously pretty sure of yourself if you think you could pull off a wedding in a couple of weeks! Are you a party planner as well as a police sergeant?"

"Ha! Don't down play the police sergeant part. We have connections, you know, ways of getting thing done. If you agree to marry me in two weeks time, I can have it arranged. All you'll have to do is show up."

"You'll even get the wedding dress?" she asked.

That one stumped him.

"Okay, you'll have to deal with the dress part. But I could arrange the rest. You just have to agree to the date."

Stirling isn't trying to be difficult. She's just been imagining a spring wedding with sunshine, warmth and bright flowers. For Joe, that's eight months too long to wait.

Thus, his cunning plan.

As Stirling lies in his arms later that morning, she smiles to herself. He's certainly dedicated to his cause, she thinks, kissing him as he dozes. She wouldn't be upset if he succeeded; as a doctor, she realizes it really is just a matter of time until it happens. They've already discussed the future; their hopes. It would throw a spanner into her plans for a spring wedding but she could live with it. Her only concern is her sister, Emily, and how she will react. Stirling knows it won't be calmly.

She checks the alarm clock – 7:30 a.m.

"Joe," she whispers. "Joe."

He stirs as she strokes his cheek.

"It's time to get up," she says, sitting up and getting out of bed with a yawn. She walks into the washroom and starts the shower, waiting for the water to warm up before climbing in for a quick hair wash and scrubbing. She walks out just as Joe finishes shaving.

"Perfect," she says, kissing his smooth cheek before shifting to his lips. "You smell wonderful."

She glances at her watch and makes a face.

"I have to hurry," she says, rushing into the bedroom and picking out her clothes for the day.

She's just finishing getting dressed when Joe walks out of the washroom, fresh from his shower.

"I hate mornings," she says, giving him another kiss. "It's so hard to say goodbye for the day."

"We can always go back to bed," he says smiling as she kisses him again and then again. Reluctantly, she pulls away.

"I'll see you downstairs," she says, striding into the hall and bouncing down the stairs.

"Good morning, Morwenna," she says as the young receptionist hands her a list of patient stops.

"Morning, Doc Stirling."

In the kitchen, the Doc is preparing his first espresso of the day.

"Good morning, Chief," Stirling says, grabbing some bread and tossing it into the toaster.

She quickly puts some eggs on the cooker to boil.

"Good morning, Dr Aylesworth. There were two messages on the machine this morning, two additional stops for you."

She nods her head.

"I hear the appendectomy went well yesterday," she says. "No complications?"

"No, I got it out just in time. Depending on how he heals, he should be able to be discharged in a few days."

"Good," she says, grabbing the toast as it pops up and putting another two slices in.

She's buttering the slices and cutting them when Joe walks into the kitchen dressed in his uniform.

"Morning, Doc," he says, hooking his duty belt on the back of a chair and checking the egg timer.

He gets a look of disdain and a grunt in return.

Joe removes the boiling water from the cooker top.

Stirling watches as the Chief slowly walks out of the kitchen to the waiting room doorway, slowly stirring his espresso.

"Patient," he snarls, looking over his shoulder at Joe before entering the consulting room. The door closes with a slam behind his first patient of the day.

Joe gives Stirling one of his worried looks.

"He'll get used to it," she says reassuringly, handing him a plate with a boiled egg and toast soldiers on it. "He'll have to."

She sits down across from him with her own egg and toast.

"Busy day?" he asks.

She looks at her list.

"Seven stops. A few around Portwenn, two out on Bodmin, a couple toward Delabole."

"Will you be back for lunch?"

She looks up.

"I doubt it. I'll probably stop somewhere."

"Want to meet up?"

She smiles across at him.

"Do you have something in mind, Sergeant?"

Joe blushes, making Stirling's smile wider.

"I just thought I could meet you somewhere with some lunch. I need to have a refreshment break around that time."

"Where?"

He describes a scenic point overlooking the Celtic Sea along the road to Delabole.

"Sounds perfect," she says, jumping up from the table as she chews the last of her toast. "I'll see you there around noon."

She bends down to give him a quick peck goodbye that turns into a long session of kissing.

"Have I told you how much I hate mornings," she says, finally breaking away. "I have to go."

She grabs her doctor's bag and patient notes as she passes Morwenna's desk.

"See you later," Stirling says, grabbing her leather coat and closing the door behind her.

A few minutes later, the Triumph roars down the hill and through the village.

Joe finishes his breakfast alone, rinsing off the dishes before he loads them into the dishwasher. He's whistling as he walks out the back door.

As soon as he's gone, the Doc walks into the kitchen to rinse out his espresso cup. He notices the duty belt hanging from the back of a chair and picks it up, holding it like it's a dead rat. Just then, the back door opens and Joe walks in. He grabs the belt – "Thanks Doc" – and is back out the door.

"Idiot," Dr. Ellingham grumbles as he looks out the window into the back garden, thinking.

* * *

Stirling spends most of her morning on Bodmin Moor, first visiting Danny Nugent, who had hip surgery a few weeks back and is still having trouble with his incision healing, and then Bryce and Donna Cooper, who are both in their 80s and have multiple health issues between the two of them. She spends extra time at their sheep farm, which their son Alex Cooper now operates.

She still has about an hour before lunch as she drives to her next visit near Delabole. As she parks her Triumph in the lane of the small stone cottage, she glances at the windows, looking for movement.

_She's probably out back_, she thinks

Maisie Grunger is one of Stirling's regular weekly stops and one she looks forward to. The feisty 75-year-old woman lost her husband to cancer 15 years ago and her lower right leg to diabetes five years back. She hasn't let that stop her from keeping busy as she tends to her large vegetable garden, making preserves and selling produce to the local stores. As Maisie fights to maintain her independence and live on her own, Stirling fights to help her keep her left leg, which is already missing one toe from the foot.

"Good morning, Maisie," Stirling calls as she walks around to the back garden of the old lady's house. Sure enough, the stoop-shouldered, grey-haired woman is busy harvesting tomatoes and cucumbers from her spotless patch.

"Doc Stirling!" she says, looking up from her work. "Is it that time already?"

"I'm afraid so," Stirling says, walking over and picking up the bushel basket the old woman has been using to pick into. She carries it to a wooden table just outside the back door of the cottage.

"Well, you better come in and I'll get the kettle on," Maisie says, hobbling through the door into her kitchen.

"Just a glass of water for me."

"I swear, one day I'm going to give you a glass of water and you're just going to float right out me door on your own wave," Maisie cackles.

"It's funny you should mention that," says Stirling, describing last night's mishap with the tub.

The old lady laughs with delight.

"My Albie, he overflowed the tub once, little bugger. Soaked through the floor and dropped plaster from the ceiling of the sitting room, right onto his Da's favourite chair. Little tyke had a sore arse that night."

"Albie's your son?"

"Yes, he and his missus live is Bristol. Livvy is my daughter. She and her family live in Delabole."

Stirling nods as she readies her equipment to take Maisie's vitals and get a blood sugar reading. She also plans to inspect her foot and leg stump for any possible bruising, cuts or sores.

As she works, the old woman chatters away, telling stories about her children and grandchildren or remembering back to when she was a young girl living on her parents farm, located on the west side of Portwenn.

Stirling loves listening to the old woman's stories, which remind her of how life was on the Yorkshire Moors when she was a young girl, tagging along on her father's farm visits, playing with barn cat kittens and being pecked by grouchy hens or chased by territorial roosters.

"Well Maisie," she says, pulling off her gloves, "your vitals look good; blood pressure's in the normal range; your foot and stump look excellent with no bruising or sores. But your sugar is in the high range again. If we can't get it under control, we'll have to go back to injections and I seem to recall you didn't like that very much."

"No, I much prefer the pills."

"So, stop it with the sweets, Maisie!" Stirling says with a smile. "Are you baking for the postman again? Or did your grandchildren sneak you something?"

Maisie gives her such a grumpy look, Stirling laughs.

"I hate to be a nag but I want you to keep the toes you have remaining! And your leg!"

Maisie pats Stirling's hand.

"You fuss too much, Doc. We call that faffing, my dear. Stop faffing!

"Now, that's enough serious talk. Tell me all about your police sergeant. The postman only knows so much and most of it I don't believe anyway. Is it true that half the town caught you two shagging on the waiting room floor?"

Stirling blushes and hurriedly looks at her watch.

"Oh my goodness! Just look at the time! I have to go, Maisie. I've left your supplies for the week on the kitchen counter right over there," she says, pointing to a small paper bag. "I'll see you next week. And stay away from the sweets!"

She practically sprints out the back door and around the outside of the cottage to the Triumph. As she buckles on her helmet and pulls down her goggles, she thinks back on the relative anonymity she enjoyed when she lived in London and sighs.

_Of course, no one knew who the hell I was or cared what happened to me or would have blinked twice if I was mugged on the street,_ she thinks as she kicks the Triumph to life. _At least I have more than three people that care about me in Portwenn_.

She backs the bike out carefully and rides down the narrow country lane to the Delabole Road. About five minutes west, she turns onto a tractor track leading through a small wood lot, popping out into a green field. She smiles as she sees the Land Rover already parked ahead.

As she stops and turns off the bike, she notices Joe in the distance, looking out at the sea near the cliff edge. He turns and waves, walking back toward the vehicles as she pulls up her goggles and unbuckles her helmet.

"Have you been waiting long?" she asks.

"No," he says, putting his arms around her and kissing her excitedly, pulling her right off the bike in his enthusiasm.

"Oh my! Hello to you, too," she says laughing, dropping her helmet on the ground beside the motorcycle so she can put her arms around him and kiss him back.

And then time slows down as the moment is filled with hands, lips, skin, tongues and fingers. At one point, Stirling finds herself lying on a blanket in the tall meadow grass, a wicker basket with sandwiches and drinks nearby. Not that she's hungry for food at that instant.

Later, they lie together, partially covered by the blanket, Stirling's head on Joe's chest, his fingers playing with her hair. She closes her eyes, enjoying the warm summer sun and light breeze; a perfect summer afternoon.

"You're quite committed to this plan of yours, aren't you?" she asks sleepily. "You're definitely putting a lot of effort into it."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he says.

She smiles, reaching her hand up to stroke the side of his face.

"Spoken like a typical male – deny, deny, deny."

She feels him shift under her and finds herself lying fat on the blanket again as Joe looks down on her.

"You think I'm a typical male?" he asks.

"Never!" she says, smiling and pulling his lips down to hers for a kiss. "There's nothing typical about my police sergeant."

He smiles and kisses her, moving to her ears and her neck.

"I'll admit one thing," he says suddenly, pulling back to look into Stirling's eyes. "When I commit to something, I'm all in. No half measures."

"I'd say," she says, giggling as she kisses him.

"I'm curious," she says, nestling her head back on his chest again. "If I agreed to a wedding date of your choosing, would all this attention stop?"

"What do you mean?"

"Would you stop lusting after me 24/7, stop meeting me for afternoon sexual liaisons in isolated meadows, stop bringing me flowers or stop chasing me around the surgery and the police station like some sex crazed madman?"

He thinks about it for all of one second.

"Definitely not."

"Good!" she says, giving him that big, wide beautiful smile and a quick kiss.

She snuggles back against him.

"Do you know the postman is going around telling everyone that we were caught shagging on the waiting room floor?" she says.

"Yeah," he says with a sigh. "I heard about it twice this morning."

"Is there nothing else interesting to talk about around here? What about Morwenna and Al? Does the village gossip about them as well?"

"Not as much as they used to," admits Joe. "I did win that bet though."

Stirling lifts her head to stare at him.

"What bet?"

"Bert had a pool going. You picked the date you thought Al would move in with Morwenna permanently. Whoever was closest without going past the actual date won the pot of money. I won – May 28."

Stirling stares.

"You bet money on this?"

"Yes."

"And you won?"

"Yes. That money helped pay for part of my trip to Bristol to visit Sam; the trip where I met you."

Stirling thinks for a moment.

"Are there any pools currently underway involving us?" she asks.

Joe's silent.

"There are!" she says, shocked. "Unbelievable!"

She looks at Joe.

"What are they? Tell me!"

He looks uncomfortable.

"Tell me!"

"Well, there's a pool for the date we actually get married," he says. "There's also a more complicated one involving several factors, including whether you will go ahead with the wedding or not and whether you call it off before or the day of. And ..."

"There's a third one!"

"There's a pool on the date our first child is born."

"What! Our first! Is there a pool on how many children we are going to have in total?"

Joe looks even more uncomfortable.

Stirling is moving into the realm beyond anger as she hunts around in the long grass for her clothing.

"This is outrageous!" she yells, pulling on her trousers.

She grabs her blouse and starts buttoning it up, noticing half way through that she's putting the buttons in the wrong holes. She starts over again.

"Isn't this kind of betting illegal?" she asks Joe, who gives a shrug.

"We're not talking large sums of money and it's pretty innocent," he says.

"Innocent? Innocent!" Stirling shouts, feeling oddly like stamping her right foot for emphasis. "The villagers are making bets on our private lives! They're voyeurs! I feel like I'm in some sort of strange reality TV show but no one's bothered to tell me."

Joe stands up to pull on his uniform trousers.

"I think you might be taking this a little too seriously," he says softly as he tucks in his uniform shirt and buckles his belt. "You know, Bert once had a pool going on what Louisa and the Doc were going to name their baby."

"I'm taking this too seriously?" she shouts at him.

Suddenly, she calms and looks at Joe closely. It makes him nervous.

"You've made a bet, haven't you?" she says in a dangerous tone of voice. "You have money invested in one of these pools, don't you!"

Joe pales, not liking the direction this conversation is going.

"Which one?" she says quietly. "Which. One."

"The date our first child is born," he admits. "I have £50 riding on May 28."

She stares at him incredulously.

"I like the date May 28," he says defensively. "It's the day Nottingham Forest won the 25th European Cup in Madrid; 1980. It stands out in my mind."

Stirling continues to stare at him for a few more moments before she turns, grabs her leather jacket from the ground and marches toward the Triumph.

"Stirling? Stirling?" Joe calls, following after her.

As she kick starts the Triumph, he begins running.

"Stirling, wait!"

He just misses grabbing her by inches as she gives the motorcycle gas and drives away.

"Damn," he says as she disappears down the trail, her coat flapping.

* * *

Stirling is angry. She's kick-you-in-the-head-until-you-bleed angry. She's the-angriest-she's-been-in-quite-some-time angry. And she knows that's a dangerous mood for a doctor to be in when making house calls.

Several miles down the road – and several miles from her next patient stop – she pulls the Triumph over. She needs to calm down. She needs to think.

Looking around the area, she notices a bridge a little further up the road. She slowly drives up and sees a small river meandering under it.

_Perfect_, she thinks.

She stops the Triumph and pushes it up onto its stand. She pulls her goggles up but leaves her helmet on as she carefully slides down the road berm to reach the river bank.

The river is running fairly high given the rain the previous day but there is still dry access to an area under the bridge. Obviously, people like to fish here because several old chairs and wooden boxes have been set up to sit on. It's empty at the moment.

Stirling dusts off a wooden box and sits down. She watches the water rush by for a while, hoping the rhythm and sound will help soothe her. It doesn't.

She reaches down and grabs a handful of rocks and gravel from the ground. She begins throwing the rocks into the water, enjoying the loud splashing noise they make in the echoing chamber under the bridge. Soon she's pelting the rocks hard into the water, aiming at a large boulder poking half out of the river. But, somehow, it just doesn't seem to be enough.

When Joe finds her about five minutes later, she's screaming obscenities with every rock she throws. He watches and listens wide eyed as she cusses like a banshee with each throw, hitting the large rock in the river every time.

Eventually, she tires and stops.

Joe clears his throat loudly.

She glares over at him and then back at the river.

"I'm trying to calm down," she says. "I don't think you being here is going to help."

He watches her quietly for a few moments and says nothing.

She turns toward him again.

"You're still here?" she says, amazed. "You're either really stupid or very confident. You do realize I'm holding rocks in my hands and I have very good aim."

After a few more minutes, he slowly walks up to her, dusts off an old wooden chair and sits beside her.

Eventually, Stirling begins to talk.

"Sometimes I find it very difficult to live here. It's just so damn suffocating! It feels like there are always patients in my house. And they're watching and listening to everything I do. Or you do. Or what we do together. You walk out of the surgery or I walk out of the police station and everyone in the village is thinking: _I know who was boffing last night_. It's incredibly frustrating."

Joe sits quietly for a few moments.

"Do you not want me to stay overnight anymore?" he asks.

"No, that's not what I'm saying," she says.

"Because I love it when I stay overnight with you," Joe says. "It doesn't matter whose place - yours or mine. I just want to be with you."

Stirling looks over at him.

"As for what the villagers are thinking you and I are doing behind closed doors, I really don't care," he says, turning to look at her. "But I know one sure fire way to make it stop. Pick a date and marry me – soon. There's nothing more boring than speculating about the private lives of married people."

"Unless you're betting on when their first child is going to be born," she says sarcastically.

"It's just a silly betting pool," he says.

"About something very private and personal and precious. It seems sordid to have someone profiting from when a baby is born."

"Nobody will be profiting from the arrival of our baby but us," says Joe. "Because we'll be the ones with the baby. Plus, I'm going to win with May 28."

Stirling tries to fight it but she can't. She laughs.

"Are you now." she says, smiling. "You seem really confident about this."

"I am. I have a really good feeling about it."

He stands up and pulls her up from her wooden box seat.

"Don't be angry with me," he says, putting his arms around her shoulders. "It's just a silly bet. If it upsets you so much, I'll pull my choice."

She looks at him and smiles. "Keep your goofy bet. But don't cry to me about your lost £50."

Stirling looks down at her watch and flinches.

"I'm going to be late tonight," she says. "I still have four patients left to visit."

"I'll see you at the surgery later," Joe says, giving her a kiss. "I'll make you dinner."

"Aces!" she says, smiling.

They walk up together and Stirling gets on the Triumph, buckling on her helmet and pulling down her goggles. She starts the motorcycle with a roar and watches as Joe walks toward the Land Rover.

"Hey, lover boy," she shouts.

Joe turns toward her.

"I have a date for you – January 5."

He looks at her strangely.

"The birthday of Erika Morini, a famous Austrian violinist who was also a child prodigy. She played the Davidoff, a Stradivarius constructed in 1727. It was stolen from her just before her death in 1995 and has never been found."

Joe looks at her and shrugs.

"And?" he asks.

"That's the day I'll marry you, Sergeant," she says with a grin, gunning the Triumph and driving away.

"Damn," Joe says as she disappears down the road, her coat flapping.


	4. Chapter 4

With Stirling's decision and announcement, Joe goes into what she can only describe as some kind of wedding insanity, a form of matrimonial frenzy.

At times, it's trying.

A week or so after setting the date, Stirling is on the telephone consulting with two specialists about a patient when he bursts into the surgery gasping for breath, scaring both her and Morwenna. Thinking he's injured, Stirling disconnects her teleconference and pulls him into the consulting room.

"Are you stabbed? Shot?" she asks, examining his arms, legs and torso.

She doesn't see any blood.

She grabs her stethoscope, wondering if it's a lung issue.

"Guess what?" Joe finally manages to say, panting.

She looks at him, realizing there's not a damn thing wrong with him except being out-of-breath from running up the hill to the surgery.

"What?" she says quietly.

"I've managed to book the church," he says, obviously excited. "In Blisland."

"Blisland? I thought we were getting married in Portwenn?"

"No, Blisland. There's a church there I remember from when Sam and I used to visit our Gran and Gramps and ..."

"Joe, you come running in here like the village is on fire; you're gasping for breath, leading me to believe there's something seriously wrong with you; and it's because you managed to book a church in Blisland? I don't even know where that is! Couldn't you have sent a text to me?"

He pauses for a moment.

"Yeah, I guess so, but ..."

Stirling begins to laugh, partially from the relief of realizing he's okay but also from the strangeness of the situation.

"Isn't this supposed to be the other way around?" she asks, bemused. "Aren't I supposed to be the one running around booking everything, getting all excited and annoying you with table cloth colours?"

Joe shrugs.

"I told you all you had to do was pick a date and I'd do the rest; well, except for the dress, I can't do that."

She hugs him close and gives him a kiss.

"Can we talk about this tonight? I want to be involved, I want to help out. I don't want you to have to deal with everything."

"Okay," he says, smiling, kissing her back. "I'll see you later."

And he's running out the door again.

"Joe seems a bit excited," says Morwenna, grinning.

"I think I've set loose a monster – Groomzilla," Stirling mutters, walking back into the consulting room, hoping to reconnect with the teleconference.

* * *

And so it continues for the next few weeks. Saturday afternoons – after the surgery is closed for the day – become prime wedding planning and errand time for Joe and Stirling.

On their first Saturday, they manage to find a photographer based in Bodmin who is available to work the day of their wedding. He takes one look at them and insists on shooting an engagement photo in the back garden of his studio. He poses them with the Triumph, Joe leaning against the bike and Stirling leaning into Joe, his arms around her. They have their helmets on and goggles up. He shoots about two-dozen photos and races to his computer to display them. They are beautiful and Stirling immediately falls in love with one – they are both laughing over something silly Joe has said. They look relaxed and in love.

"Can you print me a copy of this one?" Stirling asks. "In black and white?"

They leave with a CD copy of the photos plus Stirling's print.

The next Saturday, they find a printer for the wedding invitations capable of doing a quick order. Stirling hands him a CD with a copy of her favourite engagement photo.

"I want this printed on the front," she says. "No doves, no flowers, no intertwined rings; just this photo in black and white."

They leave the print shop with a promise the invitations will be delivered to the Portwenn police station within a week.

The flowers are easy. Nothing fancy, Stirling insists. A bouquet for her, boutonnieres for Joe and Robert, and a few urn displays for the church. No maid of honour, no best man, no bridesmaids, and no groomsmen.

"I just want a simple wedding," she says.

One morning in mid-September, Joe and Stirling are eating breakfast together when the subject of what to wear comes up.

"I guess you'll need to get a proper suit and a proper tie," she says smiling.

"I already have one. I'm wearing my dress uniform, complete with hat," he says. "But you're going to need a wedding dress."

"I already have one. It's my mother's. I just need to send for it. And have it altered."

"I think it's already in Portwenn," says Joe.

"What!"

"I wrote to your sister and brother-in-law asking for your hand in marriage," he explains. "They sent a letter back with their approval plus a huge box addressed to you. It's at the station."

Stirling looks up from her breakfast and stares at him.

"You did what?"

"I asked them for your hand in marriage."

"What century are you from again? You wrote them? You could have emailed or called them. They do have telephones in Yorkshire."

"I felt I needed to do it right; do right by you," says Joe. "That's why I wrote them. With your parents gone, they were the only members of your family I knew to ask."

Stirling looks at him, shaking her head.

"You're quite something, Joe Penhale. I'm going to need you to deliver that box to me."

"Sure thing. We still need to decide where to have the reception, where to honeymoon and we have to visit a jeweller," says Joe.

"A honeymoon?"

"Yes, a honeymoon," says Joe, getting up from the table and rinsing his dirty dish. "Time alone; just you, me, a huge bed, a big bathtub, a fireplace and room service. No mobiles, no uniforms, no ties, no radios, no patients, no emergencies, no clothes."

"Count me in," says Stirling, putting the dirty dishes in the dishwasher.

Joe comes up behind her and wraps his arms around her, moving her hair to kiss her neck. She laughs, turning to face him, pulling him toward her by his uniform collar. They kiss, his body pressing hers against the kitchen counter. Stirling feels a chill but she fights it back, staying in the moment with Joe.

They are both startled by a polite cough.

Morwenna stands in the kitchen doorway, blushing.

"I'm sorry to disturb you Doc Stirling but your first patient is here."

Stirling looks at her watch.

"That's a bit early."

"It's what she requested."

"Okay, I'll be out in a minute."

She turns to Joe, kissing him tenderly.

"Work awaits. I'll see you later, Sergeant."

"I'm looking forward to it," he says, kissing her several times before she finally pushes him away with a laugh.

She's smiling to herself as she walks out of the kitchen through the low hallway and into the waiting room. She's surprised to find Louisa waiting for her.

Stirling looks at Morwenna who shrugs and hands her Louisa's patient file.

"This is a pleasant surprise," Stirling says, escorting Louisa into the consulting room. "I'm not complaining but I thought the Chief usually took care of you and James Henry's health needs?"

Louisa just stands in front of the desk, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.

"Why don't you sit down, Louisa?"

"I'd prefer to stand."

"Okay."

They both wait in silence for a few moments.

"How can I help you, Louisa?" Stirling asks quietly.

The headmistress appears to gather her strength internally and takes a deep breath.

"I think I'm pregnant," she says clearly and calmly.

Stirling is quiet for a moment and then stands up, moving to the supply cupboard.

"What makes you think that?" she asks as she assembles supplies on the counter.

"It's been several months since my last period. My breasts are quite sensitive. And the last few mornings I've felt a bit off. It's very similar to the early months when I was expecting James Henry."

As Louisa lists off the symptoms, Stirling nods her head.

"When was your last period?"

"I knew you were going to ask me that," says Louisa, frustrated. "It was sometime in June; early June, I think."

Stirling nods again and grabs a sample bottle, wraps it in paper towel and hands it to Louisa.

"I think you know what I need from you."

Louisa takes the container and stares at it. She doesn't move.

Stirling waits quietly having learned long ago not to rush an upset patient, especially one who might be pregnant – and hormonal.

"We need a urine sample before we can do the test," she says softly. "Once we do the test, you'll know one way or the other."

Louisa looks up at her.

"I'm not sure I want to know."

"You want to know," Stirling says, smiling kindly. "You wouldn't have come to see me if you didn't."

Louisa smiles at her and slowly opens the consulting room door, walks into the waiting room and enters the surgery washroom.

Stirling waits patiently, her calm demeanour hiding her racing mind.

_Louisa? Pregnant? How will she react? How will the Chief react? Wow!_

Louisa re-enters the consulting room and hands Stirling her sample.

Stirling takes it and turns to the counter where she has set up the necessary supplies. She drops some urine onto the pregnancy test strip and waits, turning to look at Louisa, who stands like a prisoner awaiting the firing squad.

Time seems to slow, a phenomenon Stirling seems to experience when awaiting important results.

She turns back to the test, picks it up and walks to Louisa with it.

"Take a look," she says. "I can tell you the results but you might not believe me. It's best if you see for yourself."

Louisa looks down at the plastic test strip in Stirling's hands and gasps.

There are two pink lines.

She looks up at Stirling, tears dripping down her face.

"How do you feel Louisa? Why don't you sit down."

Trembling, the headmistress finally has a seat, not sure if her legs can hold her anymore.

Stirling considers herself pretty good at reading people's emotions but Louisa has her mystified. Is she happy? Upset? Excited? What?

Finally, she can't stand it anymore.

"Is this good news, Louisa?" she asks, handing her face tissue.

Louisa looks up, still crying, wipes her nose and nods her head.

"Aces!" Stirling shouts, startling the mother-to-be. "Congratulations!"

She hugs Louisa, overcome with excitement and completely discarding any semblance of professionalism.

"I've hoped for this for the past year," Louisa finally manages to say, her voice still choked with emotion. "I was so worried the test was going to be negative and you were going to tell me I was entering menopause."

Stirling smiles, wiping away a few of her own tears.

"Well, we'll set up an appointment at the hospital for you to have an ultrasound so we can date this baby.'

"I know when it happened," Louisa says quietly.

Stirling looks up, a bit surprised.

"You do? Not many women do."

"It was the evening of your first day back to work at the surgery," Louisa says, looking at her. "The sunset was beautiful that night. And Martin was convinced there was something wrong with the water because everyone in Portwenn was acting so strangely."

She laughs at the memory.

Stirling feels a flare of excitement deep in her belly. She remembers that evening as well. And the evening before that. And the evening after that. She blushes at the memories.

Louisa is touching and looking at her stomach in wonder, smiling.

"Martin and I, we didn't adapt to marriage very well in the beginning," Louisa says. "I almost left him. Actually, I almost left him several times. But in the end, he asked for my help and I gave it. We went to marriage counselling for a year and he worked so hard. We both worked hard. And something clicked. We began to work together as a team. We weren't fighting against one another. We moved as one."

Stirling is quiet as Louisa talks, letting her express her excitement. She feels slightly uncomfortable being provided a glimpse into the Chief's marriage but she also feels strangely honoured.

"It was then I hoped," Louisa continues. "He was happy doing surgeries again. And you came along to help him here in Portwenn. And I began to think that maybe, one day, we could have another baby. And it's happened."

Stirling smiles and hugs her.

"If what you suspect is true, this baby is about 10 weeks along and you're one quarter of the way there."

She digs a special circular chart out of a desk drawer and begins lining up dates.

"And that would make your due date March 26. I'm still going to arrange for you to have an ultrasound to date the pregnancy and see how things are progressing. We aren't going to get too worried about measurements until around 20 weeks."

"When you go to the hospital, they are going to suggest various tests you can have. Listen to their suggestions. You don't need to have the tests if you don't want to but you are older than you were when you had James Henry; sometimes it's good to be informed about issues before hand."

Louisa smiles and nods her head.

"I understand."

"You've been through this before so you know what to expect during the first trimester, the nausea, the vomiting, the food and smell aversions," says Stirling. "If you have any questions, or are uncertain or just want to talk, don't hesitate to contact me."

She hugs Louisa.

"Congratulations again."

She smiles non-stop for about three minutes after Louisa has left, feeling very happy inside. She fills in the necessary information in the patient notes and leaves instructions for Morwenna to book the ultrasound.

As she walks out into the waiting room, she's surprised to find the reception desk empty.

There are several patients in the waiting room.

"Morwenna?" she asks.

They all point to the washroom door.

Stirling walks up to the desk and checks the appointment book.

"Mr. Clarkson?"

An elderly gentleman stands up. Stirling has never met him before.

"Are you new to the surgery?" she asks.

He nods and she grabs some forms for him to fill out.

"Come with me," she says, escorting him toward the consulting room.

Just then, the washroom door opens and Morwenna staggers out looking pale.

"You go ahead and have a seat, Mr. Clarkson," Stirling says, stopping beside Morwenna.

She feels the young woman's forehead and looks in her eyes.

"You look horrible," she says.

"I feel horrible," groans Morwenna.

"Well, you don't have a temperature."

"Maybe it's food poisoning?"

"Have you eaten anything different over the last few days? Anything different than Al?"

Morwenna shakes her head.

"Do you need to go home?"

"No, I'm feeling a bit better," she says, sitting down at her desk. "I'll see how I am over the morning."

"Okay. I can examine you at lunch if you're still feeling manky."

"Great," Morwenna says, rather unenthusiastically. "As long as you don't have to give me the jab."

Stirling laughs and walks back to the consulting room.

The morning goes by quickly at the surgery with Stirling seeing a steady stream of patients. Her last walks out the door around 12:20 and she heaves a sigh of relief. Lunch.

She walks out of the consulting room and looks towards Morwenna's desk. The young woman is leaning forward in her chair, slumped over the desk, apparently asleep.

"Morwenna?"

She jumps awake, lifting her head from the top of the desk, a sticky note stuck to her left cheek.

"Yes Doc?"

"I take it you're still feeling ill?"

"Well, my tummy isn't too upset now; I'm just really tired."

"Okay, come on through," Stirling says, digging in in the filing cabinet for Morwenna's patient file.

"You're not going to give me a jab, are you?"

"Hopefully not."

She has Morwenna sit up on the examining couch and checks her vital signs. She looks in her eyes, nose, ears, and mouth. She has her lie back and palpates around her stomach, asking if there's any pain or discomfort.

"No, I just feel kind of bloated. I kind of get that way when my period's overdue, you know? But I've never been sick before."

Stirling stands in the consulting room, staring at Morwenna, her mind spinning.

_No bloody way!_ she thinks. _That would be way too coincidental, impossible_.

Morwenna looks at her.

"Are you okay, Doc?"

Stirling gives herself a mental shake.

"You can sit up now," she says absently, still considering the possibility. "Morwenna, can you answer some questions for me?"

"Sure."

"When was your last period?"

The young woman stares at Stirling, considering the question and its ramifications. It takes her several very long seconds before she can speak.

"No bloody way!"

Stirling turns to the supply cupboard, digs out a sample bottle, wraps it in paper towel and hands it to Morwenna.

"One way to find out."

The receptionist grabs it and marches out of the consulting room and into the surgery washroom, muttering: "No bloody way!"

As Stirling waits, Joe walks into the room.

"Hello," he says, giving her a kiss. "Interested in some lunch?"

"I'd love some but I just have to finish up with a patient, okay?"

Joe looks at his watch.

"I thought you were done until half one?"

"Last minute visit," she says, herding him out the door. "I'll join you when I'm finished."

Joe disappears into the kitchen just as Morwenna comes out of the loo with her cargo. She hands it to Stirling.

"No bloody way!" she says, shaking her head. "No bloody way!"

Stirling takes her second pregnancy test of the day out of the supply cupboard and applies several drops of urine to the appropriate area. And then they wait.

Morwenna drops into a patient chair, looking completely shell shocked, her hands trembling.

Stirling looks over at the test and hands it to the young woman, who looks down and immediately starts to cry.

_I'm going to need a new supply of face tissue_, Stirling thinks as she hands Morwenna the box. _And pregnancy tests!_

Stirling sits down at her desk and waits.

After five minutes of sobbing, Morwenna looks up.

"There's no bloody way! We use protection!"

"Every time?"

"Yes!"

"What kind?"

"French letter, Durex."

Stirling nods.

"No contraception method is completely 100 per cent successful but condoms are typically 98 per cent, only one per cent less effective than hormonal methods. Think back, in the past few months, was there a time the condom broke or slipped or leaked?"

Morwenna sits sniffling, trying her hardest to think back over her and Al's bedroom activities during the past weeks, the past months.

"We had some kind of accident, I think it was back in June," she says excitedly, a hint of hysteria entering her voice. "I can't remember exactly. It's not like I write this stuff down!"

Stirling holds out her hands, trying to calm the young woman down.

"I understand. It's impossible to remember everything. But I do need to know, to the best of your ability, when you had your last period."

"Yes," Morwenna says, wiping her eyes.

She digs in her back pocket, pulling out her mobile, which she begins to tap on.

"I have a tracking app," she explains. "I've never been regular."

She taps a bit more on the mobile's screen.

"It started on June 15."

Stirling takes out her circular chart again and does the calculations.

"Most women ovulate anywhere between day seven and day 21 of their cycle. Now, you said you're not usually regular. I take it your cycles are usually longer?

Morwenna nods.

"Okay, based on a start date of June 15, your window of opportunity would roughly fall between June 22 and July 7. I'm thinking later in the date range."

Stirling looks up at Morwenna.

"Anything memorable happen between these dates?"

The young woman thinks for a moment and then looks up, her eyes huge.

"Yes, it was the day you returned to work after being off ill!"

_Oh! My! God!_ Stirling thinks. _This is the freakiest day of my life. What the hell is going on? Maybe the Chief's right and there is something in the water? Or was? I guess I should look into that._

She clears her throat nervously.

"Okay, so we've cleared up the when and the how. I don't want to know why or where and I have a pretty good idea of the who part. Now, we deal with the future. I take it this news is not exactly welcome."

Stirling looks at Morwenna and her tear streaked face.

"No, it's not!"

"So, what do you want to do, Morwenna? I can arrange for you to see a family planning counsellor who can explain your options. I can arrange for you to have an ultrasound at the hospital so we can date the baby accurately and see how the pregnancy is progressing. It's up to you."

The young receptionist slouches despondently in her chair, slowly ripping strips from the wad of damp facial tissue in her hand.

"How am I going to tell Al?" she says with a sob.

"You haven't discussed having children?"

Morwenna shakes her head no.

"Well, I've always found that being honest and direct is the best way to approach a difficult conversation," Stirling says. "Just give it to him straight."

"What happens if he leaves me?" the young woman says crying.

That's a possibility Stirling finds preposterous.

"Then aliens have abducted the Al Large we all know and love. He's not going to leave you! And if he tries, we'll have Joe arrest him and lock him up."

Morwenna giggles at the idea of aliens. And the possibility of Joe arresting Al.

Stirling leans forward and holds one of her receptionist's hands.

"Just go and tell him. Do it now. There is no right or wrong time. Just do it. You don't have to deal with this alone. And, I know it might seem this way now, but what's happened, being pregnant, it's not the end of the world. You're not dying, you don't have cancer, you're not deathly ill. You're having a baby. It might not have been in your plans for now but life works that way. Sometimes plans change. And we have to change with them."

Morwenna sniffles and wipes her nose.

"Go find Al and tell him," suggests Stirling. "Talk about this together. Don't worry about work. You can have the rest of the day off. I'll muddle through."

Morwenna stands up, walks to the door but turns back to give Stirling a quick hug. At her desk, she gathers her bags and rushes out the front door.

Stirling sighs as she cleans up the counter and washes her hands.

As she walks into the kitchen, Joe is dividing a pot of soup between two bowls.

"Perfect timing," he says, setting the bowl in front of her as she sits down at the table.

She takes a sip.

"This is really good. Thank you, Joe."

"My pleasure," he says, smiling.

"How's your day been so far?"

"Usual – illegal parking, lost dogs, lost children, lost wallets, lost mobiles, lost minds."

Stirling smiles.

"How about you?"

"Very strange," she says.

"Stranger than usual?"

"Yes."

"This sounds interesting."

"Well, without getting into particulars, it would appear that Portwenn is about to experience a small population explosion."

Joe looks up sharply from his bowl of soup, spilling the spoonful originally en route to his mouth down the front of his pristine white uniform shirt. He doesn't even notice. He just stares at her, hope shining in his eyes.

Stirling gives him a puzzled look before she realizes what he's thinking.

"No, not me," she says quietly.

She watches his face fall in disappointment and feels a pang of regret.

"Not yet," she says smiling.

"Who?"

"I can't tell you," she says, taking her bowl to the sink to rinse and stack in the dishwasher. "That would go against doctor-patient confidentiality. But, you'll likely find out soon enough, the way life works in this village. And Bert can set up some new betting pools."

Joe laughs as his bowl joins hers in the dishwasher.

"Feeling left out?" he asks her, putting his arms around her.

"I'm just sorry I had to disappoint you."

"I'm not disappointed," he says, kissing her softly before his lips become more demanding.

"We should go upstairs," Stirling pants between kisses.

"That's a great idea," says Joe, lifting her so she can wrap her legs around his waist.

"You need to get a fresh shirt," she explains, kissing him passionately.

"You can help me," he says, carrying her slowly up the stairs.

Less than a minute later, he runs down the stairs, shirtless, and locks the front door before racing back up to the bedroom.


	5. Chapter 5

Soon Portwenn becomes officially wedding and baby crazy.

It seems all anyone can talk about is the Doc and Louisa's new baby, expected in the spring, plus the surprise announcement that Al Large and Morwenna Newcross are also expecting a bundle of joy. Adding to the excitement is that both babies are due around the exact same time.

Stirling also has four other mothers-to-be registered at the surgery, all due in mid to late March.

Despite having the village's water tested on three different occasions, she can find nothing suspect.

Bert Large is almost intolerable as he struts about the village, bragging about his expected grandchild. Anyone who gets him started on the subject might find him or herself trapped at his restaurant for hours as the first time grandpa-to-be describes his hopes and dreams for the much anticipated little one. Of course, they will also find themselves invited to put some money down on one or more of several different betting pools he's offering.

And if the village isn't talking about babies, it's buzzing in anticipation of Joe and Stirling's upcoming nuptials.

In all the excitement, Portwenn's citizens have almost completely forgotten about the village's fall talent show, which is perfectly fine with Stirling. Having won the contest twice, the first time last fall and then in the spring, she's hoping she can bypass the October event altogether. But, as it draws closer, the pressure begins to build.

It starts with comments made in passing by patients, all of whom have an opinion regarding which song she should perform. Suggestions range from obscure Cornish folk songs to Queen. Surprisingly, even the Doc has an opinion on what she should play.

Several weeks after Louisa's visit to the surgery, Stirling arrives back early from a Friday of house calls to discover the Doc is still at the surgery seeing his last patient of the day. She's half way through updating patient files when he finishes and escorts the patient to the front door. He locks the door after.

"Evening Chief," she says. "How are you feeling?"

He gives her a puzzled look as he reads through her patient notes.

"Fine."

"I mean how are you feeling about the expected baby? A sibling for James Henry. It's exciting!"

"Yes," he says. "Exciting."

She almost laughs.

"You don't sound very excited."

"I actually am," he says, surprising Stirling. "I missed out on most of Louisa's pregnancy with James Henry. Now I have the opportunity with this child."

She stares wide-eyed at him. It's the most she's heard him say in a long time on a subject that isn't medical related.

"That's wonderful," she says, smiling.

He almost smiles back. It's the most relaxed she's ever seen the Chief.

"What are you hoping for – another boy or a girl?"

"A healthy baby," he says curtly.

Stirling is silent for a few moments but can't let the subject go.

"Chief, we're doctors; we're expected to say we just want a healthy baby. Enough with the platitudes. What are you hoping for?"

The Doc looks down at the pile of stacked patient files and frowns.

_You've done it this time_, she thinks, waiting for the blast.

"I think a little Louisa would be interesting to see," he says quietly. "I don't know what sort of father I would be to a daughter. I'm sure it would be very challenging. But if she grew up to be at all like her mother, it would be very rewarding."

Stirling looks up at the very tall surgeon and grins.

"I think you'd be a wonderful father to a daughter," she says. "Most little girls idolize their Daddies. And you're a pretty easy man to idolize. You might have to work on the listening, though."

He grunts, picking up Maisie Grunger's file.

"Are you planning on performing at this fall's talent show?" he asks.

_He's just filled with surprises tonight_, she thinks.

"I was actually considering not taking part this year."

"Why?"

"I've won it twice. I think that's enough. There's talented people in the area who should win."

The Doc is silent, thinking.

"I think you should play Beethoven," he says. "You play very well."

And with that he says goodnight.

Stirling stares in shock as he walks out of the waiting room toward the kitchen.

Beethoven?

That night, as she lies in bed with Joe, she describes her conversation with the Doc.

"He actually suggested I play Beethoven for the talent show," she says. "He's never encouraged me to perform before. Actually, he's usually discouraging me."

"Maybe he's finally realized, like the rest of us, just how talented you are," Joe says, holding her against his chest, kissing her neck and nibbling her ear from time to time.

"It was just so surprising. He said I play very well."

Joe rolls her over to face him, so he can kiss her deeply, pulling her down over him.

"Do you know what I think?" he asks.

"No," she whispers, between kisses.

"I think you should perform whatever you want to," he says, pulling her closer against his body. "Everyone wants to tell you what to do. Just do what you want and enjoy yourself."

"Wonderful idea, Sergeant," Stirling says, kissing down his neck and chest. "And I know just what I want to do at this moment."

* * *

For the second time that year, the Portwenn Talent Show is sold out, allowing Joe to showcase one of his best talents – being a fastidious police sergeant dedicated to public safety. Stirling can't help but giggle as he triple checks his attendance numbers against the fire code regulations – again.

"How many years have you been doing this job?" she asks innocently as she sits beside him in the back row of the auditorium, watching him scribble information into his black notebook.

He stops for a moment to consider her question.

"I don't need an answer," she says, laughing. "I'm just wondering why you don't have that fire code memorized by now."

"Well, not all of us can be Ms. Wizard like you," he says sarcastically. "Great! Thanks for distracting me! Now I have to start all over again!"

Stirling giggles and leans over to whisper in his ear.

"It meets code. There are less than 657 people in this building. Your count was 632."

He looks at her with surprise.

"I couldn't sleep one night so I read your copy of the Portwenn Town Hall fire code," she says defensively.

"So you're going to do my job now, too?"

"Never!" she says with wide-eyed innocence. "You're more dedicated and meticulous about the rules than I am. I could never be as painstakingly thorough and punctilious as you."

He gives her a suspicious look.

"You're mocking me, aren't you?"

She leans over and kisses him tenderly.

"I love you. I would never mock you," she says in a serious voice. "I'm teasing you. There's a big difference."

He smiles and strokes her cheek before turning to give the official okay that it's safe for the show to begin.

Stirling has decided to watch from the audience with Joe this time rather than hide away backstage. She's a lot less nervous compared to the past two shows and believes it has a lot to do with his advice. She's planning to perform what she wants and have fun.

Every year, she's always amazed by the number of talented people in the area who perform during the show. She enjoys herself thoroughly as she leans against Joe, his arm around her waist, and watches the other acts.

Morenna and Al sit beside her in the row and she smiles as she watches the attentive way Al treats his girlfriend over the course of the evening. It's quite apparent Morwenna's fears regarding his dedication to her were unfounded – as Stirling had told her that day – and that aliens have not abducted Al.

Several rows ahead of her, she notices the Chief and Louisa sitting hand-in-hand watching. She smiles to herself, recalling the first time she ever played in front of Portwenn – the Doc couldn't even be bothered to come. A year later, he's almost watching from the front row.

She's so busy watching the crowd, she almost misses her cue to head backstage. She leans over and gives Joe a kiss on the cheek.

"Time to go," she says, grabbing her guitar case by the handle. She's kept it beside her the whole night; she's not losing this one.

"Good luck," Joe says, giving her a big kiss on the lips. "Have fun."

She smiles and stands up, walking along the side of the auditorium and through the hallway to the backstage area. She watches from the stage wings as the act before her performs.

Once they finish, she calmly grabs a stool from the back of the stage and walks up to the front, setting it down centre stage. She adjusts her acoustic guitar and settles comfortably on the seat, bracing her foot against one of the stool rungs.

As she's announced, a bright spotlight is shone down on her, blinding her so she is unable to see the faces watching her. She quietly counts herself in, keeping the beat with her braced foot. As she closes her eyes, the haunting and sparse chords of Bobbie Gentry's Ode to Billy Joe fill the auditorium.

The song is one of Stirling's favourites, reminding her of wet, winter evenings in Yorkshire spent with her father in his veterinarian office. He loved to listen to that recording. She would sit on the floor while he did blood tests or filled out paperwork and invoices. He taught her all the words and, a week after she was given her first guitar, she taught herself the chords.

As Joe watches and listens to Stirling, he experiences that prickly feeling he always seems to get when he hears her play. It feels like the hair on his arms and the back of his neck is standing on end. He shivers at the delightful sound of her voice.

A year has come and gone since I heard the news 'bout Billie Joe  
Brother married Becky Thompson, they bought a store in Delabole  
There was a virus goin' round, papa caught it and he died last spring  
And now Mama doesn't seem to want to do much of anything  
And me I spend a lot of time picking flowers up on Choctaw Ridge  
And drop them into the muddy water off the Tallahatchie Bridge

As the last chord echoes away, Stirling pauses for a moment to wipe a few tears that have managed to sneak from the corners of her eyes. She stands as the audience applauds, bowing before picking up her stool and walking from the stage.

She stows her new guitar in its case, running her fingers over the shiny surface before closing the lid. She almost hits Joe with it as they both try to pass through the privacy curtain at the same time – he coming into the backstage area; she going out.

"How was it?" she asks uncertainly. It's not the style of music she normally performs at the talent show and she's not sure if the audience liked in.

"You were wonderful," Joe says softly, leaning down and kissing her. "You gave me chills."

"Chills?"

She reaches out and touches his forehead and then the side of his face.

"You don't seem to have a fever," she says, looking concerned.

"No, listening to you sing that song, the sound of your voice, it gave me chills, chills of pleasure."

"Oh," she says smiling.

She hugs Joe and gives him a kiss.

"So you liked it!"

"Very much."

Later that evening, Joe and Stirling walk hand-in-hand through the dark village on their way home to the police station. Joe carries the guitar case while Stirling holds the Portwenn fish trophy.

"Pretty soon you're going to have a whole shelf full of those trophies," he says. "And you don't even believe in the singing fish."

"Don't start with me about that damn fish," she says, laughing.

Joe opens his mouth to say something.

"Don't!"

He closes it.

"Thank you," Stirling says, resting her head on his right shoulder as they walk.

"Tired?"

"A little. The late nights are starting to catch up with me."

"What late nights?" Joe asks innocently.

She laughs but says nothing.

They are just about to the police station when an alarm signal comes across Joe's radio with his badge number.

"This is Sergeant Penhale, 3021," he responds.

"We have a report of a fire on road B3314 in Pendoggett. Fire crews are requesting police assistance with directing traffic and crowd control."

"Affirmative. I'm on my way."

He hands Stirling her guitar case and gives her a quick kiss.

"Just go to bed," he says. "Don't wait up. I'll probably be out for hours."

He gives her another kiss.

"I love you," he says softly.

"I love you too, Sergeant."

He jumps in the Land Rover and drives away, siren wailing and lights flashing.

Stirling walks up to the front door of the residence side of the station and flips over the doormat, picking up the spare key and unlocking the door.

_Always the highest security at the Portwenn Police Station_, she thinks with a smile, putting the key back and kicking the mat back over it.

She walks in and locks the door behind her, flipping on the lights as she enters the kitchen. She sets her guitar case on the table and looks around for a good spot for the trophy. She decides to set it on the windowsill above the cooker.

_Perfect_, she thinks.

Incredibly tired, she turns off the kitchen lights and slowly climbs the stairs, yawning as she goes.

She makes a quick pit stop in the loo before entering Joe's bedroom. After carefully folding her clothing and setting it on top of a chest of drawers, she pulls back the duvet and crawls into bed. Stirling is so exhausted, it doesn't take long after the bedside light is off for her to fall asleep.

* * *

Before opening her eyes, Stirling is convinced the police station is on fire, the smell of smoke is so strong. She turns on the lamp and is startled by the dark human form sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Joe?"

He turns his soot-streaked face toward her, his eyes heavy with exhaustion.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," he says. "I was just sitting here resting for a moment and I must have fallen asleep sitting up."

"Are you okay?" she asks, crawling across the bed toward him.

She looks at his face, rubbing the black spots to make sure it's just soot. He's absolutely filthy, his blue pullover black with ash and stinking of smoke. His uniform shift is also blackened, the smoke and ash seeping through the weave in his pullover. His uniform trousers are no better and the legs have been torn at both knees.

"What on Earth happened?"

"It was a hell of a fire," he mutters.

"So it would appear," she says, glancing at her watch – 3:50 in the morning.

Stirling climbs off the bed and pulls Joe up by the arms, supporting him as they walk into the loo. She sits him on the lowered toilet lid and starts the bath water as she shoves in the drain plug.

"We need to get you clean," she says, yanking his pullover up over his head and throwing it into the dirty clothes hamper. She unclips his tie and unbuttons his grimy uniform shirt, throwing it on top of the pullover. She unlaces his shoes and pulls them off along with his socks. Once his belt is unbuckled and his trousers undone, she is able to pull them off one leg at a time.

She checks the temperature of the water before getting Joe to stand up. She yanks down his boxers and supports him as he steps out of them and into the tub.

"Just sit down and relax," she says as he lowers himself into the water.

As he immerses his body, he hisses in pain.

"Where does it hurt?" she asks him, quickly looking over his body but not seeing any obvious injuries.

He points to his right arm.

She pulls a clean flannel out of the washroom cupboard and gently removes the soot and dirt from his arm, uncovering a burn about twice the size of a £2 coin. She cleans the wound as best she can and examines it closely.

"That's second degree," she says, horrified. "I thought you were there to direct traffic and handle crowd control!"

He also points to his legs.

She wipes the dirt from his knees and discovers both have severe abrasions. She lightly rubs the flannel over them, removing small pieces of gravel.

"Well, it would appear at some point you fell to your knees on a hard surface, I'm thinking the roadway, and received a lovely case of road rash on both your knees."

He nods his head and points at her.

"We've got a winner," he mumbles, half asleep.

Working from Joe's head down, Stirling carefully cleans the soot, ash and grime from his body, uncovering a varied assortment of injuries, including abrasions on both his elbows, an abrasion to his chin, a second burn on his neck, a large bruise and swelling running the width of his back just above his kidneys, and a third burn on his upper back.

As the filthy water drains, she sits on the floor beside the tub and stares at him. He's actually snoring as he sleeps leaning against the back of the tub.

"What the hell happened to you?" she whispers.

Once the dirt is gone, Stirling begins refilling the tub with clean warm water.

"Wake up, lover boy," she says giving him a shake. "I have to wash your hair."

He sits up long enough for her to pour a couple of tumblers full of water over his head. Then she adds shampoo, thoroughly sudsing his hair before rinsing out the soap.

"All clean," she announces. "Let me help you up and get you into bed."

"Goody," he says.

Somehow, she manages to get Joe out of the tub and mostly dry before she leads him into the bedroom, helping him to sit down on the side of the bed. She pulls back the duvet and helps him lie sideways on his pillow before pulling up his legs and rolling him into bed.

As she covers him up, he gives a big sigh of relief that quickly turns into a snore.

Stirling watches him for a few moments and then goes downstairs, picking up her doctor's bag from where it sits by the front door. She carries it back upstairs.

Sitting cross-legged on her side of the bed, she opens the bag and digs out a container of burn cream and a can of spray antiseptic. She gently smears the burn cream on the three areas she uncovered, covering each with a sterile bandage and adhesive tape. Flinching in sympathy, she sprays the antiseptic on both his knees.

"AAHHHH!" Joe screams, sitting bolt upright in the bed.

He looks over at her as she quickly sprays both his elbows, making him scream in pain again.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" he yells.

"Trying to keep you from getting an infection," Stirling says, giving him one final blast on his chin, causing him to scream like a little girl.

"Don't!" he shouts, flailing out with his arms.

"I'm all done," she says calmly, packing away the cream and the antiseptic and zipping her doctor's bag closed. She sets it beside the bed and then crawls under the covers beside him.

"The sadist is finished, thank god!" he sighs, lying down again. "That stuff bloody well stings, you know."

"That means it's working," she says, putting her arms around him and cradling his head on her upper chest.

"This is nice," he mumbles, snuggling up closer to her.

"After you've rested, you'll have to explain to me what the hell happened."

"Uh-huh," he hums and starts snoring again.

* * *

It's the light that finally wakes Joe. One of the window coverings in his bedroom is crooked, allowing a beam of sunlight to filter through where the two panels join, eventually falling across his face.

He blinks his eyes several times, temporarily blinded by the light, before rolling on his back.

His whole body aches.

He groans as he manages to sit up on his stinging elbows and look around the room. Stirling is missing from the bed.

He looks at the bedside clock – 12:48 p.m.

Moving very slowly and flinching periodically, Joe sits up on the side of the bed. It takes him a few moments before he is able to actually stand and shuffle over to his dresser. He grabs a clean pair of boxers and a T-shirt from the top drawer and hobbles stiffly back to the bed to sit down again.

The muscles in his back figuratively scream in pain as he bends over to put his boxers on. He moves very slowly pulling on his shirt.

Finally somewhat dressed, he walks stiffly to the bedroom door and opens it.

The first thing he notices is the music. It's loud, it sounds classical, and it's coming from downstairs.

As he shuffles down the hall, he catches the scent of laundry soap and something else, something that makes his empty stomach gurgle with joy – the buttery scent of baking.

After a stop in the loo, Joe continues what feels like his very long trek to the top of the stairs. With each step down, he flinches from the pain; his spine feels like it's going to pop out the top of his head. He stops about two-thirds of the way down to stare at the strange scene in front of him.

His kitchen is spotless and the washing machine is chugging away in the laundry area just off the kitchen. Stirling has managed to wire a mp3 player into the radio system that sits on the windowsill – which now has a fish trophy next to it – and a haunting aria is echoing very loudly through the room. Just a little louder than the voice of the soprano on the recording, Joe can hear another voice singing. He has no idea what she is saying but it is beautiful.

Voce piena d'armonia e dice  
Vivi ancora! Io son la vita!  
Ne' miei occhi è il tuo cielo!  
Tu non sei sola!  
Le lacrime tue io le raccolgo!  
Io sto sul tuo cammino e ti sorreggo!  
Sorridi e spera! Io son l'amore!

Stirling, the singer in question, is sitting at the kitchen table. She's actually facing Joe on the stairs but she can't see him as she has unfolded a broadsheet newspaper in front of her face and is busy reading an inside story. He's not sure where she's managed to find it but the paper is obviously a copy of that day's Cornish Guardian, the front-page photo showing the fire he attended the night before.

_Shit!_

She appears very relaxed, her knees bent up to her chest and her bare feet propped against the kitchen table, her toes gripping the edge. She has tipped back her chair so it precariously balances on its two back legs. Periodically, she bounces her feet against the table, causing the chair to rock back and forth dangerously.

Sitting on top of the cooker to cool is quite possibly the most delicious looking meat pie Joe has ever seen.

The song is so beautiful and Stirling looks so relaxed, Joe is hesitant to disturb her. But looking at the meat pie is driving him wild.

"Didn't you learn proper manners, like not putting your bare feet on the kitchen table?" he asks, walking down the last few steps.

Startled by the sound of his voice, Stirling screams in mid aria and promptly tips her chair over backwards.

"Are you okay?" Joe asks, hobbling as quickly as possible to where she lies laughing on the floor.

"You scared the bloody hell out of me!" she manages to choke out between bursts of laughter.

"Did you hit your head?" he asks, helping her to her feet and putting the chair upright again.

"No but I think I bruised my arse. And my pride."

She gives him an angry look, like she's suddenly remembered she should be pissed off at him.

"You know, you shouldn't startle people while they're reading newspapers describing how their soon-to-be-husband was injured by flying debris from an exploding vehicle. Or how they refused treatment at the scene and weren't properly checked in the hospital."

_Uh-oh_, Joe thinks.

"Well, you shouldn't put your feet on the table and tip your chair back on two legs," he answers, kissing her forehead.

He sits down at the table with a thump, his legs aching from the small amount of exercise he's had so far.

"How are you feeling?" Stirling asks, an annoyed tone in her voice.

"I feel like I've been run over by a lorry," he groans.

"Well, according to the newspaper, you almost were," she says sharply, grabbing two plates from the cupboard and setting them on the table with a bang. She's more careful as she lifts the meat pie dish and sets it just in front of Joe's plate before turning to gather some eating utensils.

"Why didn't you go to the hospital?" she asks, pointing a fork at him.

Joe eyes it warily.

"Well, I knew I had my own personal physician at home," he explains. "I thought I'd rather be treated by you than some nasty nurse or a doctor I didn't know."

"You were knocked down by a piece of exploding vehicle!" she shouts, opening the refrigerator and taking out the milk. She slams it down on the table, spraying a bit out the top opening. "You could have been killed!"

"Well, I wasn't. I was even able to drive myself home."

"Which also wasn't a very smart thing to do," Stirling says, thumping down into her own chair at the table.

She points at the meat pie.

"I made you a steak and kidney pie this morning because I knew you'd be hungry when you woke up," she says, her voice beginning to choke with emotion.

"It looks wonderful," Joe says, watching with concern as she starts to cry.

Stirling jumps up from the table and runs upstairs, slamming Joe's bedroom door behind her.

_Damn_, he thinks looking at the lovely pie in front of him, his stomach grumbling.

* * *

Stirling lies on Joe's bed, her head buried in one of his down feather pillows, and cries.

She's really not 100 per cent sure why she's blubbering. She is upset by the newspaper article, which describes how a vehicle – parked in front of a burning Pendoggett business – exploded unexpectedly, raining debris down on firefighters, police and by-standers.

"One police sergeant was injured but refused treatment on the scene," the report stated.

_And who would that be, I wonder?_ she thinks sarcastically.

And she's upset that he didn't get seen at hospital but instead drove himself home to have her look after him in the middle of the night, ultimately scaring the hell out of her.

_He was so tired, he couldn't even tell me what happened_, she thinks. _Instead I have to read about it in a newspaper._

Her practical, medical mind understands this is an isolated event – it's not like Joe deals with fires and vehicle explosions every day. But the emotional part of her mind has taken the event and blown it 100 times out of proportion.

Stirling's body tenses as she hears the bedroom door open and close followed by the clinking of dishes. Curious, she glances quickly over her shoulder.

"You left lunch so I thought I would bring lunch to you," Joe says, standing beside the bed holding a tray with the meat pie and two forks on it.

"I'm not hungry," she sniffles, flinching internally at her statement, which sounds like something a petulant child might say.

"Okay," says Joe, sitting cross-legged on his side of the bed and setting the tray in front of him. "Hopefully you won't mind if I sit here and eat my fantastic looking lunch. I am quite peckish."

She hears him break into the pie with his fork and the wonderful smell of steak and pastry wafts her way. But she stubbornly keeps her back to him.

"This is really good," Joe says, pointing at the pie with his fork. "I don't think I taught you this recipe. Have you been branching out on your own? Exploring the wonderful world of cooking without me?"

He takes another bite and watches as Stirling's rigid back rises and falls slightly with each breath.

He takes a few more mouthfuls as he waits for her to move or say something. As time ticks by, he realizes this approach isn't working.

"Are you sure you won't have a bite?" he asks, holding out a fork. Not that Stirling notices since she still has her back to him. "It's really quite good. I'm actually kind of jealous because you've obviously outgrown my abilities."

When she doesn't move, he takes the remains of the steak and kidney pie and sets it on the tray sitting on top of the bedside table.

He lies down beside her and slowly inches over, trying to get closer to her. As he moves to put his arm over her, she elbows him, hitting him in the chin.

"Oww!" he cries, immediately grabbing his jaw. He can still move it so she hasn't broken it. When he takes his hand away, it's covered in blood.

"Great, now I'm bleeding," he says.

Stirling immediately rolls over.

"What did you do?" she asks.

"What did I do? You're the one who elbowed me in the chin!"

She grabs her doctor's bag and lifts it onto the bed, unzipping the top.

"Don't you dare take that can of spray out!" Joe yells, jumping off the bed, cupping his chin to try to catch all the dripping blood.

"Don't be such a baby," Stirling says, pulling out a packet of sterilized gauze. "Come here so I can stop the bleeding and look at your chin properly."

"You're not going to punch me or knee me or something?" Joe asks, slowly approaching her.

She gives him a dirty look.

"Sit down next to me," she says. She tips back his head and places a wad of gauze against the abrasion, applying pressure. She holds it there for a few seconds and then looks. Still bleeding. She applies more pressure.

"That hurts," Joe mutters.

"I have to get the bleeding to stop," she says softly.

She checks under the gauze again, putting the wad back against his chin.

"You really beat me up this time."

"Don't be silly," she says, checking his chin again. The bleeding has stopped. "Finally!"

She opens a packet and unfolds a small wet cloth.

"This might sting a bit," she warns.

Joe tries to move his head away but she grabs him at the back of his neck and dabs the cloth on his chin. He hisses with the pain.

"Honestly, you are acting like a child."

"Says the woman who told me not five minutes ago 'I'm not hungry!' in a perfect imitation of a 13-year-old girl."

"Do you want me to get out the spray can?"

"No!" he shouts, his eyes going wide.

"Then shush!"

She dabs most of the blood off his chin and examines the wound.

"You should live. And I don't even think it will scar. You don't need a bandage. It will heal better if it's left uncovered."

She looks at Joe and smiles, reaching up and brushing his hair back with her fingers.

She turns back to her doctor's bag, gathering up all the packaging and other garbage from the bed before zipping it up. She sets it back on the floor next to the bed and turns back to Joe.

"Don't be mad at me," he whispers, reaching out and touching her cheek. He leans in and kisses her. "I wasn't thinking properly. I just wanted to get home to you. That's why I didn't go to the hospital or let the paramedics look at me. I just wanted to get home to you. I knew you would take care of me."

He kisses her again and Stirling finds herself being slowly edged back until she is lying in the middle of the bed, Joe's body half on her, half off.

He looks down at her clothing and smiles.

"Doctor, only you could make one of my old T-shirts and a pair of boxer shorts look sexy."

"I don't know, you do a pretty good job yourself, Sergeant," she says, pulling on his shirt as she makes a fist in the material. She also grabs a fistful of his hair as she kisses him.

She hears him gasp in pain.

"Are you okay?" she asks, letting go of his hair.

"I'm fine," he says. "Your hand just pressed into my back, that's all."

"Let me see," Stirling says, trying to sit up.

"Later," he says, pushing her back down and moving in to kiss her.

She dodges his lips and tries to sit up again.

"Let me see your back!"

"You can look at it later," he says softly, pushing her arms down onto the bed above her head.

"Joe, unhand me and let me up so I can look at your back," she says, staring him in the eye.

"No," he says, kissing her. "You can look at my back when I'm finished looking at and touching you."

Holding her wrists above her head with one hand, he uses his other to pull up the hem of Stirling's T-shirt and yank it over her head. He shifts his hand from her wrists only long enough to pull the shirt off her arms. He throws it behind him.

His lips push hungrily against hers as his hand slowly tickles its way up her right side.

"Let my wrists go," she whispers, pushing against him, wrapping her legs around his.

"Are you going to behave?"

"Probably not."

"Sounds good to me," he says with a wicked smile, taking his hand from her wrists and trailing is fingers down her left side to her breast.

Stirling wraps both her arms around his shoulders, grabbing back her fistful of shirt and hair.

Later, Joe lies naked on his stomach in the centre of the bed while Stirling examines his very bruised and swollen back.

"That's where the piece of vehicle hit me, knocking me down," he explains, gasping with pain as Stirling gently applies pressure along his spine. "I couldn't even tell what part it used to be. One minute I'm standing there; next thing I know, I'm lying on the ground in a world of pain and I'm deaf."

She feels from one side of his back to the other, pushing and prodding with her fingers, which sometimes causes Joe to flinch and other times not.

"It's one hell of a bruise," she says, sitting back on her legs. "The swelling is quite extensive as well. But you're lucking – your kidneys seem to be fine. You haven't been peeing blood?"

"No, I think I would have mentioned that to you."

"Good. There doesn't appear to be any damage to the spine, no nerve damage, no dislocated or shifted vertebrae. Based on what I'm seeing and feeling, I would suggest you go have a flutter on the lotto this evening, Sergeant, because you're one jammy bastard."

"So everyone keeps telling me," Joe mutters.

"As for the swelling, I recommend hot and cold compresses, alternated every half hour, for the rest of the day. Do you have much ice?

"A bit."

"I might have to buy some bagged ice. How about a heating pad?

"A what?"

"A heating pad. You plug it in, turn it on and lay on it. It warms the muscles in your back, making them relax. Women use them for menstrual cramps."

"Since I don't get menstrual cramps, I don't have one," says Joe, trying not to laugh.

"It's not just for women; men use them, too. Oh forget about it. You can borrow mine. You say you lost your hearing?"

She digs in her doctor's bag, pulling out a portable otoscope.

"How long before it came back?" she asks, using the tool to look in his right and left ears.

"About five minutes. It took another 10 minutes for the ringing to go away."

"Your inner ear looks fine. Your eardrums didn't burst. But don't be surprised if the ringing comes back, especially after hearing loud noises. Hopefully it won't be permanent."

She leans over and slips the otoscope back into her doctor's bag.

"You know, there's something strangely erotic about being examined by a naked doctor," Joe says, turning his head to look at Stirling. "Perhaps this is a service the NHS could offer in future."

She sighs and gives him a pained look.

"So, do you think I should be offering this to everyone who comes in the surgery?"

"No!" Joe says, looking alarmed. "Just me."

"Well, as you can see, you're already receiving the deluxe home visit service. You don't even have to get dressed or out of your bed."

"I know. It's wonderful. And I receive add-on fringe benefits that go above and beyond medical treatment."

"I'm very tempted to slap your arse at this moment," Stirling says. "But I won't because it will probably send your back into severe spasms. Please keep that in mind."

"Are we finished with the examination, Doctor?"

"Yes, unless you're having issues with your prostate."

Joe quickly flips on his back, flinching from the sudden movement.

Stirling moves to stand up but he grabs her arm.

"Where are you going?"

"Well, I need to get some ice to start the cold compress treatment and then walk back to the surgery for a heating pad. On the way back, I'll probably stop at the store and buy a bag of ice."

"You can do that later," Joe says, pulling her down beside him and covering them both with the duvet.

"You seem to be really dedicated to procrastination at the moment. You do know it's getting late and the stores will be closing soon."

"I'm dedicated to keeping you in bed with me longer," he says, snuggling beside her.

"Are you sure you didn't hit your head?"

"Positive," he says, pulling her body on top of his.

"My, you're rather insatiable today," she says, smiling down at him.

"That's what happens when you have a near-death experience," he whispers, pushing her lips down to his. "You begin to appreciate the important things in life, like spending Sunday afternoons in bed shagging with your future wife."

"Well, since you put it that way …."


	6. Chapter 6

It's late November in Portwenn and the holiday season is fast approaching.

On any given day of the week, there seems to be a pregnant woman in the surgery – besides Morwenna, of course. At least, that's how it feels to Stirling, who is kept busy administering and providing monthly prenatal check-ups, sugar and protein testing, weight monitoring and easing the minds of anxious, tired, hormonal women.

Most have asked her to care for them through their pregnancies, with some considering home births. She has agreed reluctantly, wondering what she'll do if they all go into labour at once. Or one after the other, like a set of big-bellied dominoes.

She's exhausted just thinking about it, so much so she almost falls asleep at her desk. It's lunch but she hasn't finished updating Louisa's patient notes yet. The headmistress was just in for her check-up and to arrange for her 20 week ultrasound. The pregnancy is progressing nicely – no sugar issues, no weight issues, no nausea. Stirling loves those kind of visits.

Unfortunately, Morwenna is not handling pregnancy as well. Her sugar readings are borderline. She also has a steadily increasing list of food and smell aversions that are driving everyone around her Bodmin. Al has changed his deodorant and shampoo brands three times in as many weeks plus Stirling and Joe are no longer allowed to cook certain meals in the surgery over lunch. Adding to all of this are hormonal fluctuations that have her giggling and then sobbing within minutes.

Her mood swings are one of the reasons Stirling is currently hiding in the consulting room, waiting for Al to pick the young woman up for lunch.

She's almost finished her file notes when the biro she's using runs dry. Despite shaking it several times, she just can't get the ink to flow again. She opens a desk drawer to dig for a new ball pen, ultimately finding one plus her small wallet calendar.

She finishes Louisa's notes and puts the folder in the pile to be filed.

Glancing into the desk drawer, she picks up the calendar and flips through it. All of the squares of the most recent months are blank. Not so in the first half of the year. She throws the calendar back in the desk drawer.

Leaning back in her desk chair, Stirling unbuttons the waist of her very tight trousers.

_I need to start walking more_, she thinks, recalling her difficulty this morning finding a blouse that buttoned closed without pulling across the chest.

She closes her eyes and falls asleep.

It's Joe who shakes her awake five minutes later announcing lunch is ready.

She's received her first sign but she doesn't pay much attention to it.

* * *

The next day, Stirling receives her second sign.

Dale Maertens is a bachelor farmer who rarely travels far from his property where he raises sheep, pigs and chickens. But for the past few weeks, he's been struggling with gout, prompting regular visits to the surgery.

Thursday morning he is in the waiting room bright and early for the first appointment. And from the aroma wafting through the room, he's come straight from the pig barn.

Morwenna has a tissue shoved up to her nose as Stirling comes through from the kitchen after finishing her breakfast. She watches as the receptionist quickly walks out the door to stand on the front flagstones.

"Come on through, Mr. Maertens," she says, taking his patient file from Morwenna's desk.

"Have a seat," she says, shutting the consulting room door.

"How's your toe feeling?"

"Still 'urts," he growls.

"Have you been following the diet I gave to you?"

"Too difficult."

"Mr. Maertens, you can't get better unless you follow instructions."

And then the smell hits her nostrils.

The effect is immediate.

"One moment, Mr. Maertens," she says hurriedly, jumping up from her chair and rushing into the waiting room. She races into the surgery washroom, slamming and locking the door behind her. And immediately loses her breakfast. The retching comes in waves, leaving her exhausted when it finally stops.

As she sits on the washroom floor, leaning her back against the wall, Stirling feels a flare of excitement and nervousness deep in her now empty stomach.

_Has it happened?_

* * *

Her third sign comes at the end of Friday's house calls.

She has been feeling good for most of the day, leading her to wonder if Thursday was just a bad reaction to the smell of pig manure. She had a good breakfast and she's had no issues with her lunch.

She's waiting at a stop sign when she feels a strange spinning sensation. She has never tipped or dropped the Triumph in her life, not even when she was first learning to drive it at 12, but she almost does that day. Reacting quickly, she puts the motorcycle on its stand and turns off the ignition. Just as she steps off the bike, another wave of dizziness strikes her.

She's not sure how it happens but within seconds, she's sitting on the side of the road.

She looks around, a little dazed. The Triumph is still beside her, her doctor's bag still snapped to a saddle bag. She's just been knocked on her arse.

She scrambles to her feet and almost falls back over as the world spins. Her fingers grip the back of the Triumph's seat and she steadies herself against the solidity of the bike. She manages to position herself so she's leaning against the side of the bike and bends over so her head is between her knees.

_Joe can't know about this. Joe can't know about this_, she chants in her head, fearing if he finds out she's had a dizzy spell while driving, he won't let her ride the Triumph or might even suspend her motorcycle licence.

After a few minutes, she begins to feel better and slowly sits upright.

_Good as new_, she thinks to herself, throwing her leg over the Triumph and settling onto the seat. She kicks the bike to life and continues her ride home.

Thirty minutes later, just as she's about to drive down the hill into Portwenn, Stirling swerves to the left, leaps off the Triumph and honks-up into the bushes along the side of the roadway.

_There goes lunch_, she thinks.

She sits astride the Triumph for a few minutes, collecting her assessing the presentation of her symptoms.

_Doesn't take a genius to figure out what's going on here_, she thinks. _I have food poisoning._

And then she starts to giggle until tears run down her cheeks, laughing hysterically over her own lame joke.

_Or maybe I'm just hysterical?_ she wonders.

She drives to the police station but finds it in darkness, Joe obviously waiting for her at the surgery.

In the gathering dusk, she parks the Triumph in the small car park across from the station and sits on a bench facing the beach.

_It would appear my Sergeant's campaign has met with success, _she thinks, her hands resting over her slightly rounded stomach. She looks at it and smiles, feeling a thrill of happiness. _He's going to be so excited. How should I tell him?_

* * *

Stirling and Joe lie side by side on the bed, hearts pounding, breath coming in gasps. They are slick with sweat.

"I suppose you're feeling right chuffed with yourself," she pants.

"Well, now that you mention it, I am," answers Joe, wiping sweat from his forehead with his arm. "You seemed pretty impressed yourself – _Oh god Joe, oh my god! Don't stop! Don't stop! Oh god Joe!_" he teases in a falsetto voice.

Stirling covers her face with her hands and rolls on to her belly, trying to bury her head under her pillow.

Joe rolls after her, tickling her sides.

"I made Stirling blush; I made Stirling blush," he chants like a schoolboy.

She laughs and rolls toward him, tickling him back. Both are soon breathless again, laughing and wrestling on the bed. The sheets are lying in piles on the floor, the pillows scattered across the room.

"Okay, okay, I give up," Stirling says through bouts of laughter. "Ceasefire."

"I always win," says Joe triumphantly, wrapping his arms around her from behind and nibbling at her right ear.

"You always get what you want, don't you?" she teases.

"Not always."

"I wouldn't say that," she says mischievously. "I'm fairly certain your cunning little plan has worked."

He lies still and silent for a moment.

"What cunning little plan?" he asks, puzzled.

"Oh you know, the one where you rumpy-pumpy with the village doctor nonstop for weeks until she is up the duff."

Stirling's announcement is met with silence. She feels a stab of apprehension in her stomach. Did he faint?

"Joe?"

She rolls over to face him.

"Joe?"

His eyes are open but it's like he's just not there.

"Joe?"

His eyes focus on hers, his gaze glassy. He extends a trembling hand and gently lays it flat on her stomach.

"You're pregnant?" he whispers.

"I haven't done a test yet but I'm fairly certain I am," she says, the medical professional taking over. "My breasts have increased in size and are extremely sensitive to touch. I've been feeling a little poorly the last few days. And, as I'm sure you noticed, we have been engaging in this kind of activity daily for the past three months without any menstrual interruptions. I'd say those are pretty big signs right there."

_I don't need to mention the dizzy spells_, she thinks.

"You're pregnant?" he asks again. "You're going to have a baby? You're going to have our baby?"

She nods her head.

Tears overflow his eyes and he wraps his arms tightly around her.

"Stirling, Stirling, Stirling," he chants, leaving a damp trail of kisses down her chest to her stomach, which he kisses repeatedly.

"There's a baby in there," he says, his voice full of awe. "Our baby's in there."

Tears stream down Stirling's face as she laughs. Watching his excitement and wonder makes her love him even more.

_I didn't think that would be possible._

Apparently reading her mind, Joe crawls back up the bed to snuggle beside her, gathering her in his arms.

"I love you so much," he says gruffly, kissing her so deep and long, Stirling is uncertain it will ever end; not that she wants it to.

"I love you," she says after their lips finally part.

Joe stares at her face and strokes her hair with his fingers.

"We're going to have a baby. I'm going to be a father."

"Don't act like you weren't expecting it," she teases, gently cupping his cheek with her hand. "The way we've been working at it, it was pretty much inevitable. It's like I said before – biology and timing."

"When?" he asks suddenly.

"When did I get pregnant?" Stirling laughs. "There were a lot of opportunities, Joe. I couldn't possibly trace it back to the actual point of conception."

"No, I mean when is the baby coming?"

"Oh! I won't know exactly until an ultrasound scan is done. But, based on my calculations, I'd say in about six months, give or take a week. Late spring."

"Just in time for summer," says Joe, hugging Stirling even closer.

"I can't wait to see you with a big belly," he says, stroking her stomach. "So beautiful."

He is kissing her again and Stirling can feel herself letting go, giving in to the passion. But Joe pulls away.

"I need to be certain. Let's do the test now," he says, leaping out of bed and searching for his boxers.

"Now? It's one in the morning!"

"I have to know for sure," he says, pulling a white T-shirt over his head.

Stirling climbs out of bed and pulls on her dressing gown, tying it tightly against the chilly air. With just his T-shirt and boxers on, Joe leads the way down the stairs to the consulting room.

Stirling takes a urine sample bottle out of the cupboard and digs a pregnancy test out of a box in one of the drawers.

"You hang on to this," she says, handing the test to Joe. "I have to use the loo."

She comes out of the surgery washroom a few minutes later with a half filled sample bottle. She grabs a paper towel, spreads it on the desktop and places the sample on it. A quick dig in the supply cart results in an eyedropper. Sitting down at the desk, Stirling takes the test from Joe and fills the dropper from the sample bottle. Carefully, she puts a few drops in the test window.

"Now we wait," she says.

Joe sits on the examination couch and swings his legs back and forth like an impatient child.

Stirling stands up and dumps the remains of the urine sample down the sink before throwing the used bottle in the trash. She rinses off the eyedropper and sets it aside to be sterilized.

"Well?" asks Joe impatiently, jumping off the couch.

She looks down at the test strip.

"It's positive."

Joe grabs her in his arms and spins her around the room as both of them laugh. Still carrying her, he heads for the door.

"Where are we going?"

"To celebrate upstairs," he says with a lecherous grin.

"Wait," Stirling says, jumping down from his arms.

She grabs the pregnancy test and crumples the paper towel into the garbage.

"We can't leave that lying about," she says as Joe picks her up again.

She holds the pregnancy test strip up triumphantly.

"And we're keeping this as a memento."

"Definitely," says Joe, carrying her up the stairs and back to bed.

* * *

Stirling groans as the sunlight hits her eyes.

_These late nights are taking a toll_.

She rolls over and sees that Joe is already up. The sound of running water comes from the bathroom. She looks at the bedside clock – 7 a.m.

_Ugh!_

She sits on the side of the bed for a moment, fighting to wake up, before reaching for her dressing gown and slipping it on. And then she feels it – a rolling sensation in the pit of her stomach. And then she tastes it – a bitter tang in the back of her throat. And then she smells it – just like rotting fish.

Stirling is up and sprinting for the bathroom door. She makes it to the toilet just as the first wave hits her. She retches loudly as her stomach empties.

"Stirling?" calls Joe, opening the shower door to peek out. "Are you okay?"

"Welcome to the wonderful world of morning sickness," she croaks before retching again. She retches and retches until there is nothing left in her stomach. And then she retches some more.

Joe shuts off the shower and, wrapping a towel around his waist, squats down beside her. He rubs her back as the waves of nausea hit her.

"What can I do?" he asks, feeling helpless.

"Water," Stirling rasps, her throat raw. "I need a drink of water."

He takes the glass from the bedside table and rinses it in the bathroom sink before filling it from the tap.

Stirling seizes the offered liquid and manages to gulp down two mouthfuls before she retches that up as well.

"Try drinking it slower," Joe suggests.

Stirling gives him a dirty look but takes a few small sips instead. It seems to work. Her stomach begins to settle. She sits cross-legged on the bathroom floor next to the toilet, sipping the water, hoping it stays down.

Joe sits beside her.

"How is it now?" he asks, touching her stomach tenderly.

"I'll live," she says with a weak smile. "That's the worst bout yet."

"This has happened before?" asks Joe with concern.

"A few times. It may be called morning sickness but it doesn't just happen in the morning. I've started to develop a much closer rrlationship with the surgery washroom toilet and I've also been watering some weeds along the side of the roadway."

"Oh Stirling," he says, hugging her close and kissing the top of her head.

"Well, enough self pity," she says, climbing to her feet. "I have patients to see."

"Actually, you don't," Joe says with a smile.

Stirling looks at him suspiciously.

"Yes, I do. It's Saturday. I have a half-day of surgery appointments."

"And Morwenna is rescheduling those appointments as we speak."

"What! She can't do that!"

Stirling is marching for the bedroom door when she feels another wave of nausea hit. She runs back to the toilet.

"Bloody hell!" Stirling moans after vomiting up the water she just managed to get down.

"You can't just reschedule my appointments," she says to Joe sharply as she grips the toilet seat. "I have a duty to my patients."

"Stirling, at the moment, you can't even make it out of the bathroom without honking," he points out.

"I just need a moment," she says angrily, her frustration building.

"Come lie down," says Joe, gently leading her back to the bedroom.

A reluctant Stirling soon finds herself back where she started from.

"I'm going to get you something to nibble on," he says, pulling on a clean pair of boxer shorts and a T-shirt. "Maybe that will help settle your stomach."

He is out the door and half way down the hall before she remembers.

"You can't go down in your boxers!" Stirling calls after him, laughing. "Morwenna's down there."

"Damn!" he says, coming back, snagging his uniform pants from the back of the reading chair and pulling them on. "I forgot."

He pads down the stairs in his bare feet and is soon rattling around in the kitchen.

Stirling stares up at the ceiling and hopes the nausea won't be a long term issue. She has seen pregnancies where it can be a daily occurrence up until the day of delivery. She feels nauseous at the thought.

_Sometimes too much knowledge is a bad thing._

Joe is soon back holding a tray containing a small plate of biscuits, two pieces of toast and a fresh glass of water. He sets the tray on a flat spot of the bed and helps her sit up using pillows to support her back.

"You're fussing," says Stirling grumpily. "Don't baby me."

Joe sits on the bed beside her, holding the tray across his lap. He hands her a soldier of toast.

"I can't fuss over the beautiful woman who is carrying my baby?" he says, kissing her on the forehead.

Stirling mutters something indecipherable under her breath.

"Why is Morwenna rescheduling my appointments?" she asks, unwilling to let the subject go.

"Because there's something you and I need to do," says Joe patiently. "It's going to take some time so we need the whole day, possibly the whole weekend."

"You're not going to work either?"

"No. There's someone covering for me. I'm spending the day with you."

"What are we doing?" she asks.

"Eat your toast."

"Are we going somewhere?"

"Eat your toast."

"Joe, tell me what the hell is going on!"

"I'm not telling you anything until you've eaten your toast – slowly."

"Don't treat me like a child, Joseph Penhale!"

"Then don't act like one."

Grudgingly, Stirling takes a bite of her toast and chews it with exaggerated slowness.

"That's better," says Joe with a laugh.

"Doc Stirling?" a voice calls from downstairs.

"Yes," she answers.

"I've rearranged all your appointments for today and I'm off now."

"Thanks Morwenna," Joe calls down to her.

"Bye Doc. Bye Joe. Have a great weekend."

Sterling hears a giggle and then the front door close and lock.

"What the hell is going on!" Stirling demands.

"Just eat up," Joe says, putting on his uniform shirt and tie. "I have to dash home quickly and get changed. I'll be back soon."

"This is insane!"

"Don't get your knickers in a knot. You don't want to honk again."

Joe grins mischievously as he runs for the bedroom door, deftly dodging a well-aimed pillow. He grabs his duty belt from the doorknob on the way by and pounds down the stairs.


	7. Chapter 7

After the back door closes behind Joe, the house is silent. Stirling nibbles at her toast and biscuits. Her stomach is feeling much better.

Setting the tray aside, she slowly puts her legs over the side of the bed. After a few minutes, she decides to risk standing up. Her stomach remains stable.

_Thank god!_ she thinks, walking into the bathroom and removing her dressing gown. She has a shower and a hair wash, taking extra time brushing her teeth in an attempt to remove the bitter bile taste in her throat.

It takes her a little longer than usual to pick out clothes. None of her fitted blouses will button up across the chest and her tailored trousers are becoming tight in the waist.

_Crikey!_ she thinks, pulling on a pair of stretchy black leggings. _I'm going to need a whole new wardrobe_.

On top, she decides to wear an oversized red sweater. She's less than impressed as she checks the ensemble in the wardrobe mirror.

_I'm only about three months pregnant and I already look bloated_, she thinks, trying to smooth the sweater flat over her small belly.

"You look brilliant," says Joe, startling Stirling. He stands in the bedroom doorway wearing civilian clothes, watching her assess her reflection.

"I look – bigger," she says with a sigh. "None of my bespoke clothes fit me properly anymore."

Joe walks over and stands beside her, sliding his hand up under her sweater and cupping her belly, skin on skin.

"You look beautiful; so very, very beautiful."

He kisses her tenderly and playfully pulls a tendril of her hair.

"Are you ready to go?"

"Almost," she says, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull on a pair of high boots. She brushes back her hair and ties it in a ponytail.

"All set," she says with a smile.

"Perfect."

As they walk out the front door, Joe snags her heavy leather winter jacket from its peg.

"You're going to need this," he says, helping her put it on. "We need to take the Triumph."

Stirling gives him a look but says nothing.

The bike sits parked on the terrace just outside the door, Joe's leather jacket lying across the seat. He slips it on, pulls on his helmet and goggles and leather gloves. Stirling does the same before climbing on behind him.

With a kick and a roar, the bike starts and they are soon cruising out of Portwenn on their way to only Joe knows where.

The late November wind has a bite to it and Stirling lays her right cheek against Joe's back, trying to protect her face from the cold. She wraps her arms tighter around his waist. The old leather smell from her father's jacket is comforting and she closes her eyes, relaxing into Joe's back.

She still feels twinges of guilt. She really should be back at the surgery seeing patients rather than motoring around northern Cornwall with Joe. And who is covering his job?

Stirling knows she is being ridiculous. She can't work all the time.

_Just__ relax_, she thinks, and settles in to enjoy the ride.

They have been travelling back roads since leaving Portwenn but soon they're cruising down even narrower secondary roads. They cross the A39, appearing to be going to Bodmin Moor. With the sun shining down, they ride through the little town of St. Tudy. Stirling remembers visiting a patient here once. And then they are back into farm country, speckled with sections of woodland. They cross the River Camel and enter another small village, Blisland. They are almost through the town when Joe slows and turns onto a side street. They stop beside an old Norman church and cemetery.

"So this is the famous Blisland," says Stirling, unbuckling her helmet and climbing off the back of the bike. They are only about 30 minutes out of Portwenn, not a long ride by her standards. "I've never been here."

"It pretty much feels like the middle of nowhere," says Joe, pulling up his goggles and taking off his helmet. "But we're only about five miles from Bodmin."

Stirling circles around, checking out the scenery.

"Nice church," she says. "This is the one?"

Joe nods.

"The Church of St. Protus and St. Hyacinth," she reads from a sign by the front gate. She follows a paved path through a black wrought iron gate into the churchyard and cemetery.

"I spent a lot of time around here when I was a child," he explains, following behind her.

Stirling turns and looks at him questioningly.

"You did?"

"My Gramps and Gran lived here, in the village. Sam and I would spend school hols with them. We used to play in this churchyard after dark. Sam would pretend he was a haunt come to kill me. I would have the screaming abdabs every night for weeks."

"That's horrible!" says Stirling, walking back to stand by him. "Bloody bugger!"

Joe laughs.

"It was all meant in fun. We had some great times here. I guess that's why I wanted this place to be where we get married."

She smiles, kissing him.

Arms around one another, they walk slowly along the path around the church.

"I also wanted to let you know I've booked a place for the reception," Joe says. "There's a holiday farm not far out of Blisland that has a barn available for parties. They will decorate it for the reception and the local pub is catering and supplying the drinks."

"Sounds perfect," she says.

They continue walking around the churchyard, ending up back at the Triumph.

"Thank you for bringing me here," Stirling says. "It's been so busy, I haven't had time to see it. The building, the grounds, they're beautiful."

Joe smiles and kisses her.

"We have a few other things we need to discuss and do," he says. "We need to decide where we want to have our honeymoon. And we have to visit a jeweller."

Stirling gasps.

"Your not suggesting we finally get – the engagement ring?"

He gives her a puzzled look.

"No, we need to pick out wedding rings," he says.

Her face falls in disappointment, making Joe laugh.

"I'm having you on. Of course we're going to get the engagement ring. And the wedding rings."

Stirling laughs, feeling relieved.

"But first – are you hungry?" he asks.

"Famished!"

They stop to eat at a small roadside pub just outside Bodmin along the Truro Road.

"So what do you have in mind for our honeymoon?" Stirling asks, digging into her shepherd's pie like a starving dog.

Joe watches her for a moment, smiling.

"Hungry?"

She scowls at him.

"I spent the early morning retching, managing to keep down only a few digestives and some toast. This is the most substantive meal I've had so far today. Please don't tease me."

"I'm not. I just think maybe you should slow down a little before you lose this meal as well."

_He has a point_, she thinks, and starts to chew slower.

"For our first night, I've booked us into a guest house not far out of Bodmin, in Lanivet," he explains. "We're going to ride right by it today on our way to Truro. It's called St. Benet's Abbey."

Stirling gives Joe a mischievous look.

"I'm not sure how I feel about spending my wedding night in an abbey," she says, giggling. "It sounds kind of naughty. We might have to be on our best behaviour."

"Not bloody well likely."

They laugh.

"For the rest of the honeymoon, we'll need to decide where to go," says Joe. "January in Cornwall isn't exactly swimming trunks weather."

"But I like the fact that it isn't," says Stirling, playing with her pie. "There's something romantic about being snug in a big, warm bed while the wind howls outside. Or going for a walk along the beach or in the woods and then snuggling in front of the fire. Or soaking together in a big bathtub. I don't need sun and fun. I just need you."

"Cornwall it is," says Joe with a smile. "Where?"

"Penzance," says Stirling firmly. "We can pretend that you're a pirate and I'm a damsel, the captain's daughter from a passing schooner. You have kidnapped me to ravage and make your own."

"This is sounding like quite the honeymoon," says Joe with a gleam in his eye.

Stirling laughs.

"You'll have to bring your handcuffs," she whispers.

Joe looks up and glances around the room.

"I wonder if they rent rooms in this pub," he says. "I think we might need one soon."

Stirling coughs on a mouthful of pie and takes a quick gulp of water.

"I think we better leave before things get out of hand," she says, using a serviette to wipe tears of laughter from her eyes. "Where to next?"

"Truro," says Joe, leaving money on the table to cover the bill. "We need to see a jeweller about some rings."

About 40 minutes later, they ride into the downtown centre of the city and park along Lemon Street.

"I like the look of this one," says Stirling, referring to the jewellery store across the street. "It says it's family run."

They walk hand-in-hand through the door and are immediately greeted by a plump middle-aged woman with twinkling eyes.

"You two are in the market for an engagement ring," she says with assurance. "And, of course, wedding rings. I can always pick out the couples that are in love. They glow. And you two are blinding me."

Stirling smiles, blushing.

They spend more than two hours in the jewellers but if feels like mere minutes. They are escorted to a sitting room area and the rings are brought to them to examine and try on. The wedding rings are easy to choose as they both want something simple and traditional. But the engagement ring proves far more difficult.

"You can't afford a ring like this," says Stirling, a huge diamond sparkling on her finger.

"I want you to have the best," Joe says, examining an even more ostentatious ring.

"I'm already getting the best," she says, kissing him on the cheek as she removes the huge rock and picks up a ring with a diamond one-quarter the size. "This one's pretty."

"It looks like the kind of ring some small town police sergeant would buy his missus."

"You are a small town police sergeant," says Stirling with a sigh of exasperation.

"Exactly! You deserve something better than that."

"This is silly. I just want you! I don't need some gigantic, fancy, glittery rock."

They keep the sales lady busy, bringing out tray after tray of different styles of rings. Stirling begins to despair they'll ever find something they both can agree on.

"I have another tray of rings to show you," the sales lady explains. "These are antiques, trade-ins if you will. Some people inherit a ring and don't want it so they cash it in. I'll get it for you."

She takes away the current sparkling tray of diamonds and returns with a motley collection of rings incorporating diamonds or other gems. Some are ridiculously large, some are miniscule while others are just plain tacky. But Stirling sees one she likes – a gold band with a ruby in the centre and three diamonds on each side. She slips it on her finger. Perfect fit.

"That's nice," says Joe.

"Nice? It's perfect," says Stirling, admiring the sparking gems from a distance.

"Your fiancee has impeccable taste," the sales lady says to Joe with a smile. "That's one of our treasures."

Stirling's heart sinks.

_It's going to be out of our price range_, she thinks.

Her heart sinks even lower when she sees the appraisal value. The ruby alone is out of their league.

"Oh well," she sighs, removing the ring and returning it to the display tray.

"I'll make you a deal," the sales lady says to Joe. "I like you. You have a kind face. And I can tell you're crazy in love with your girl and she's crazy in love with you. You can have it for half-price."

Stirling is gobsmacked.

Joe looks at the lady suspiciously.

"This hasn't been pinched, has it?" he asks, holding up the ring. "You're not trying to sell me stolen property, are you?"

"Joe!" Stirling says, mortified. She turns to the sales lady. "I apologize. He's a police sergeant and sometimes he takes his job a bit too seriously."

"You don't have to apologize for me," he says angrily, turning to Stirling. "It's a fair question."

The sales lady looks a bit peeved but she tries to remain pleasant.

"This particular ring came from a local estate," she explains. "It has only had one owner before coming to us, thankfully a rather well-organized owner who just happens to have kept the original bill of sale. So this piece of jewellery comes with a provenance."

"That's perfect," says a mollified Joe, wondering what a provenance is. "We'll take it."

He doesn't have to look at Stirling to know this is the right choice. He saw the look in her eyes when she put that ring back. This is the one.

It's mid-afternoon when they finally leave the jewellery store, Joe carrying the engagement ring in a box in his pocket. It's been arranged that the wedding rings will be sized and delivered to the station in a few weeks time.

"Where to now?" asks Stirling, holding Joe's hand.

He looks at her with a gleam in his eye and glances at his watch.

"Well, it's been about 10 or 12 hours since I last had my way with you," he says. "I'm thinking a hotel and room service."

Stirling laughs.

"Is that all you think about?" she asks with mock severity, giving him a playful push.

He laughs, wrapping her in his arms and giving her a kiss.

"We can do anything you want: fancy restaurant, dancing, a movie, whatever."

Stirling makes a face like she's thinking really, really hard.

"I think some scrummy room service and a marathon of shagging sounds like just the thing."

Joe kisses her again with passion.

"Spoken like the woman who possesses my heart," he whispers.

They climb on the Triumph and about 15 minutes later pull up to the main entrance of The Alverton. The valet takes one look at the bike and starts to grin like a schoolboy.

"Nice bike!" he enthuses.

Stirling looks uncertain.

"Maybe I should park it," she says to Joe, pausing as she unbuckles her helmet.

"I'll park it," he says, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "You wait in the reception area. I'll be there in a few minutes."

The valet looks gutted.

Stirling pulls off her helmet and walks through the main entrance to the hotel. She smiles as she remembers the last time the two of them had been here. She decides the hotel room will be her treat and walks up to the reception desk. A few minutes later, she has a pair of key cards and directions to their suite.

She turns to find Joe come through the doors, glancing around for her. She walks up to him, fanning the key cards by her face like she's feeling hot.

"Paradise awaits, lover boy," she says in a seductive voice.

Joe laughs.

"You've already checked us in?"

"Into a suite. I couldn't wait any longer. I need to get you naked and wet in the tub," she whispers in his ear, squeezing his bottom daringly in the crowded reception area.

"Let's go," he says, grabbing her hand and yanking her along behind him.

"The main lift is on the right. We're going to five, room 503."

Their car is empty except for them. As the door closes, Joe seizes Stirling and pulls her to him, kissing her hard. He pushes her against the back wall of the lift as she wraps her arms around his waist, grabbing his bum and squeezing. He unsnaps her jacket and his right hand moves under her sweater, cupping her left breast.

"Oooohhhh," she gasps, her head banging against the wall.

He pauses, looking at her with concern.

"Are you okay?" he whispers.

"I told you last night," she pants. "They're very, very sensitive due to my current condition. Ohhh!" she adds as his hand just lightly brushes against her nipple, which he can feel erect through her bra.

"This is going to be fun," he whispers, kissing her neck.

The lift doors open with a ding behind them. Joe looks over his shoulder to check the floor number.

"This is five," he says, removing Stirling's hands from his bottom and escorting her past a small group of people who are waiting for the lift. She can feel their eyes on her back as she and Joe walk rapidly down the hall in search of 503. They don't have far to go, which is a good thing because she can feel the passion building in her. It's like her breasts have a direct line to the pleasure centre in her brain.

Joe is trying to get one of the key cards to work but is having trouble. She feels her frustration building. She takes the card from him and rubs it against her sweater, then inserts it in the door.

"Green light means go," she says, rubbing her hand against the front of his trousers.

They both rush through the door. Joe shuts and locks it, turning to find Stirling has already dropped her helmet, removed her jacket and pulled off her boots and socks. She pulls her sweater over her head and throws it to the side. She stands there, breathing hard, the tops of her breasts spilling out over her black bra.

"Crikey," whispers Joe, as he quickly removes his jacket and shoes, and starts unbuttoning his shirt.

_They are larger_, he thinks, unable to move his gaze from them. _Why haven't I notice this until now?_

Stirling's breasts hadn't exactly been small before but now …

_Wow!_

She's shimmied out of her black tights and stands there in a black matching underwear set, looking incredibly sexy.

Joe's soon down to his boxers, yanking off his socks and throwing them over his shoulder.

He walks slowly toward her, touching her shoulders gently and pushing her bra straps off each side. Gravity does the rest. He reaches behind her and undoes the strap, the bra falling to the floor.

"That must feel better," he whispers, kissing along her neck and shoulder.

She nods her head, groaning softly as her nipples brush against his chest.

"How are we going to handle this?" he asks her, backing away slightly. "Is it going to hurt you if I touch them?"

"No," she whispers, shaking her head vehemently. "Touching them just makes me incredibly aroused."

"Just?" he says with raised eyebrows.

He moves forward again and kisses her, hard and long, nipping her tongue and lips. She meets him nip for nip, moaning her passion as his hands come up to touch her breasts ever so gently.

"What do you want to do first?" he asks her. "A bath? Or fool around?"

"Y-yes," she stutters, nodding her head enthusiastically.

He pulls her into the enormous washroom, sitting her on the side of the tub as he starts the water and plugs the drain. He looks through the bottles and lotions until he finds the bath soap and adds a healthy dollop to the water. Once the water temperature is right, he helps her step out of her panties and into the warm soapy water. He follows close behind, lying behind her, turning her toward him, bringing her into his embrace, kissing her, touching her, rubbing her, feeling her.

"Oh god," she moans, her familiar refrain.

Joe smiles and shuts the water off with a push from his toe. He closes his eyes and sighs as Stirling's legs straddle his torso.

* * *

A few hours later, they lie together on a soft rug before the suite's gas fireplace, watching the flames. Joe lies behind Stirling, his left arm draped over her side, his hand on her belly. Their heads are both propped up on pillows, a thin sheet covering them from the waist down.

Various plates and dishes, holding the remains of dinner, lie scattered around them.

Joe brushes Stirling's hair off her shoulder and kisses her neck.

"Happy?" he asks.

"Very. You?"

"Definitely."

He reaches behind him and his fingers land on his trousers, which he had thrown to the side when they first entered the room. He digs in the pockets and finds the ring box.

"I think it's time you received your reward," he says with a smile. "You've earned it."

He reaches over her body and places the ring box before her on the rug.

"I've earned it, have I?" she asks with a laugh, turning to face him. "Is that what I've been doing for the past few hours, earning my engagement ring?"

She slaps his bare bum playfully.

Joe sits up and opens the box, carefully removing the ruby and diamond ring. He takes Stirling's left hand and gently puts the ring on her finger. He kisses her hand and watches the gems sparkle in the firelight.

"Perfect," he says.

Stirling rolls onto her back, holding her hand up in the flickering light to admire the ring.

"It is perfect, isn't it?"

"Just like you," says Joe, kissing her. He bends down further and kisses her belly. "And you."

The pair snuggle together, enjoying the warmth and one another.

"What do you want to do tomorrow?" he asks.

Stirling sighs.

"I have to buy a few work clothes," she says. "To accommodate my growing breasts and stomach. I'm not looking forward to it."

She looks down at her belly.

"People are going to start noticing. And then the bomb is going to drop. The Chief will not be pleased."

"Don't worry about the Doc," says Joe, hugging her close.

"I'll have to find a doctor to cover for me after the baby comes," she says. "Probably for a few months."

"A few months?" says Joe, outraged. "You're going to leave our baby and go back to work after only a few months? Who'll take care of the baby?"

"We'll sort it all out when we need to," she says, patting his hip.

Joe sits up.

"I'm not sure I feel comfortable about this."

"Joe, I have to go back to work. The Chief needs the help, the village needs a GP. And babies are expensive."

"Are you suggesting I can't take care of my family?" he asks, somewhat hurt.

"Of course not. But with me working, it will make things easier financially. I love my job, Joe. You know that. I can't just stop being a doctor to become a stay-at-home mum. It's just not me. And I know you realize that."

"I do but it doesn't mean I'm happy about it."

"A marriage is a partnership, Joe," Stirling says. "I'm not going to give up my career because of some antiquated gender stereotype. Please don't go all macho police sergeant on me now."

He laughs and kisses her gently.

"I'm sorry. For a minute there, I went caveman."

"It will all work out," Stirling says confidently. "You'll see."

* * *

The next morning, after a leisurely breakfast in bed with minimal nausea, Joe and Stirling go in search of a maternity wear store. The sales lady tries her best but Stirling hates every minute of the experience. One good outcome is she finally finds some bras that fit her comfortably and can be used to accommodate breastfeeding after the baby arrives. It's an expensive outing and Stirling cringes as she hands over her credit card.

_And so the baby expenses begin_.

Somehow, they manage to pack the purchases on the Triumph.

"It's not exactly built for shopping sprees," she says, laughing.

"It's not built for pregnant women either."

Stirling stops laughing.

"What are you suggesting?"

"We're going to have to look into getting you a new vehicle for when you get further along. You can't ride a Triumph around when your six or seven months pregnant."

"Why not?"

"Stirling, you're not serious, are you? It's a motorcycle. Pregnant women don't typically ride motorcycles around northern Cornwall."

"I've been driving this motorcycle since I was 12 years old," she says, an edge creeping into her voice. "I know it inside, outside, backwards, forwards, top and bottom. I have never fell off it, dropped it, crashed it or been crashed into. And I see no reason why I cannot continue to drive it, even if I am nine months pregnant, fully dilated and about to start pushing!"

Joe knows when to back off and this is one of those moments.

"How about we take your doctor's advice on this one. Who is your doctor?"

"I haven't been to one yet. I guess I'll ask the Chief when I tell him the news."

Suddenly, Joe feels better. If there's someone who will see reason, it's the Doc.

"Let's go home," says Joe, putting on his helmet. Stirling buckles hers on and climbs behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. Once again, she burrows her nose deep into her father's old leather coat and lays her cheek against Joe's back.

It's a long, cold drive back to Portwenn and Stirling is relieved when Joe finally parks the Triumph in front of the surgery. Her joints are stiff and her bladder full as she climbs off, digging madly for her keys so she can get to the washroom.

"I need the loo," she calls after unlocking the front door, scampering toward the waiting room toilet.

Joe smiles as he brings in the shopping bags, leaving them by the bottom of the staircase.

"I'm heading home," he says, standing outside the washroom door. "There's a few things I need to see to. I'll be back later tonight. Around 6:30?"

The toilet flushes followed by the tap in the washbasin. The door opens and Stirling pops out, giving Joe a quick kiss.

"I'll see you then. Thank you for the lovely weekend."

"Anything for the little pregnant missus," he says with a smile.

"Joe," she says laughing, grabbing his face between her hands and looking him in the eyes. "I love you but don't ever call me that again."


	8. Chapter 8

Louisa enjoys the feel of the late fall sun on her face as she walks out the side door of her house. She holds James Henry' hand plus her purse, computer bag and a cloth bag containing paperwork and her lunch with one hand as she struggles to lock the door.

She glances at her watch – 8:10 a.m. – as she exits the fenced area around the garden and leads James Henry to the edge of the lane in front of their house.

_Martin should be starting his first surgery of the day by now_, she thinks.

"Do you have your bag, James?" she asks, double-checking the little boy is wearing his child-sized rucksack containing what he needs for day nursery.

Balancing her many bags and gripping James Henry's hand, she begins to walk down Roscarrock Hill toward the harbour.

"Louiser!" a voice calls from behind the pair.

She turns and smiles. "Good morning, Joe," she says, watching the police sergeant walk down from the surgery. "On your way to the station?"

"Yeah. Here, let me help you."

He takes her computer and cloth bags, helping to lighten her load.

"Thanks," she says, resuming her slow walk down the hill, Joe falling into step beside her and James Henry.

"Penhale," says the little blonde-haired boy with a giggle, pointing. "Penhale."

"Sergeant Penhale, James," Louisa corrects gently, giving Joe an apologetic glance. "Sergeant Penhale."

"Penhale!" James Henry screams, making Joe jump slightly, unnerved by the similarities between the little boy's yell and the Doc's.

"Has a good pair of lungs on him, doesn't he?"

Louisa smiles. "Yes, I'm afraid he does. He's excited about day nursery. Today is sharing day and he's brought his favourite toy to show to his friends. And you're going to share it with them, right James?"

The mop of blond-hair nods emphatically.

"Did you and Stirling have a good weekend away?" she asks as they reach the bottom of the hill and enter the harbour area of the village.

Joe gives her a surprised look.

"Oh Joe, you should know by now that no one can sneeze in this place without everyone yelling bless you. On Saturday afternoon, Lacey Millar at the store was moaning to Mrs. Pousty about having her appointment at the surgery rescheduled to this afternoon. And Mrs. Pousty, whose dog ran off that morning, told her that all police calls for the area were being forwarded to Wadebridge for the weekend."

Louisa looks over at Joe. "Don't worry, the dog came home later that afternoon. Anyway, there was much speculation as to where the village's GP and police sergeant disappeared to. I just hope you had a good time away."

Joe blushes slightly at the memory. "We went to Truro and bought Stirling's engagement ring," he says.

"That's wonderful," says Louisa. "I'll have to ask to see it next time I see her. Or I can go to the store later this afternoon and get a description from Lacey Millar."

They both smile at the thought.

Louisa stops at the main gate to the primary school and reaches for her two bags. "Thank you so much for the help, Joe."

"Are you sure you don't need me to carry them in for you? It would be no problem."

"Thank you, Joe, but no. I'll just drop this off and run James over to the day nursery. You've been very helpful."

"Have a good day at school, Louiser," he says as he messes James Henry's hair. "And you have fun sharing with your friends, little man."

"Penhale!"

Joe, who is still amazed by the similarities between the little boy and his dad, gives them both a wave as he turns and continues walking up the hill toward the Portwenn Police Station.

* * *

Primary school is halfway through the morning session when the first child is sent to Louisa's office.

"Marcus is running a fever, has a cough and a sore throat," explains the Year Two teacher.

"Oh my," says Louisa, looking at the small boy, whose teeth are chattering, even though his hair is soaked with sweat. "Well Marcus, you better have a lie down in the infirmary under some warm blankets while I call you mum and dad."

"They're at work," the little boy says shivering.

"I still need to let them know you aren't well. Come with me now."

Louisa gets Marcus settled on a cot and under several blankets. She feels his forehead, which is very hot, and takes his temperature – 39.5 Celsius.

"How are you feeling, love?" she asks him, pushing his wet hair back from his face.

"I'm cold but hot," the little boy croaks. "I want my mum!"

Louisa has the school receptionist stay with Marcus while she returns to her office and looks up contact information for the boy's parents. As she's preparing to call them, a second child is led into her office.

"Chloe now has a temperature," says the Year Two teacher, looking concerned.

Louisa experiences a tremor of fear in her stomach.

"Get her settled in the infirmary while I contact their parents."

* * *

Stirling is examining the bottom of the desk waste bin for the third time that morning when the telephone extension in the consulting room rings.

With shaking fingers, she picks up the hand set. "Hello? Can you hold for one moment?"

She pushes the hold button and dry heaves into the waste bin. There may be nothing left in her stomach but the retching continues, beads of sweat appearing on her forehead, her body shaking. She concentrates on controlling her breathing, finally feeling strong enough to answer the phone.

"My apologies for the wait. This is Dr. Aylesworth."

"Yes, Louisa. How are you?"

"How high?"

"Is there a cough?"

"I'll be right there."

She hangs up the phone, slides the waste bin under her desk and grabs her doctor's bag. She turns to the supply cupboard and grabs a few sputum sample containers, shoving them into an outside pocket on the bag.

"I have an emergency, Morwenna," she says as she marches through the crowded waiting room. "Reschedule anything that isn't urgent. I'll try to get back here as soon as I can."

She rushes out the front door and opts for the quicker transportation, buckling on her helmet as she kick starts the Triumph. She roars down the hill, scattering seagulls and the odd pedestrian before driving part way up the hill and through the school's open gate. She parks the bike by the front door and rushes in, setting her helmet on the front counter.

Louisa is waiting for her, leading the way down the main hall to the infirmary. Stirling pauses outside the door and slides a surgical face mask over her nose and mouth.

"That might scare the children," Louisa says, surprised. "And actually, you're scaring me."

"What you described to me over the telephone could be some form of contagious lung infection or bacterial pneumonia. I have to wear this. You should be wearing one also. You're almost six months pregnant."

The headmistress pauses, her mind spinning with different scenarios and possibilities.

"Better still, you wait out here for the parents," suggests Stirling, opening the door and entering the infirmary. She closes the door firmly behind her.

There are now four children, all from the Year Two class, lying in cots, shivering under blankets. They all look at her wide-eyed, including the school receptionist, who Stirling approaches.

"Who came down with the illness first?" she whispers, jotting names and information into a small black book. She probably won't need to refer to it but she's found it's important for other people to observe a doctor writing notes. It reassures them.

"Hello, Marcus," she says, squatting down next to the young boy's cot. "I'm Dr. Aylesworth but you can call me Stirling if you like. Your headmistress tells me you're not feeling very well.

"I want my mum," the little boy chokes out, tears appearing in the corners of his eyes.

"You're mum and dad are coming to fetch you, don't worry. But while we're waiting, I thought I might take a look at you and try to find out what might make you feel better. If you could help me, I'd really appreciate it."

Marcus nods his head, wiping away his tears. "Okay."

"Thank you, mate. Tell me what hurts and how much – a little bit or a whole lot."

Stirling examines the little boy, looking down his throat, in his ears, listening to his chest and lungs, taking his temperature. She manages to get him to spit in a sample container and she quickly labels the bottle and fills out a lab request form.

"Do you know how to use a mobile?" she asks Marcus. He nods his head. She hands him her mobile phone. "You punch in the numbers I tell you and press send when you're finished, okay?"

She reads him off the contact number for the local cab company, which he slowly enters on the number pad before pressing send. "It's ringing," he whispers.

"Thank you, Marcus," Stirling says, listening for someone to pick up. "Hello, this is Dr. Aylesworth from the Portwenn surgery. I need a cab sent to the Portwenn Primary School ... yes, that's the place. I have some samples that need to be transported to the lab at Truro hospital as quickly as possible ... That's right, you'll just be driving a few bottles and some paperwork to the lab ... I believe we have an account with you. Great! How soon? See you then."

Stirling manages to get sputum samples from all four of her young patients and finish the necessary paperwork before the cab arrives.

"You know where the lab entrance is at Truro?" she asks the young driver when he pulls up outside the school. "Good! Enter there and ask for the intake manager. Give these to her. I've called ahead and she's expecting you."

As he drives off, Stirling gets a face full of vehicle exhaust, leaving her struggling not to retch in the middle of the main street. She leans against the school boundary fence for a few moments, gulping air, hoping to push back the nausea. Once her stomach settles, she walks back into the school.

Some of the parents have arrived and, on Stirling's advice, Louisa has them assemble in her office. Most are nervous and agitated, wanting to see their children.

Stirling checks on the children one more time before entering Louisa's office, removing her face mask before she enters the room. She looks over at Louisa, who nods her head – all the parents have arrived.

"For those who don't know me, I'm Dr. Stirling Aylesworth," she says clearly, standing calmly by the headmistress' desk, holding her doctor's bag behind her back with both hands. "I'm the main GP here in Portwenn. Headmistress Ellingham called me here this morning to examine your children for several reasons. Number one, she was concerned with the speed this illness struck and, number two, because she was worried about the fever and cough those infected were presenting."

"I've examined all of your children and taken sputum samples from each of them. The samples have been rushed to the lab in Truro with instructions to have them processed as soon as possible. Based on my initial assessment, I'm suggesting your children have been infected with a strain of bacterial pneumonia; but I won't know for certain until the test results are back."

The parents all begin talking at once, to one another, to Stirling, to Louisa, to anyone who will listen. It's bedlam.

Stirling puts her fingers in her mouth and gives a shrill whistle. Silence.

"It's perfectly safe for you to take your children home," she explains. "I suggest you keep them in bed, well covered and well hydrated – water, juice, tea. You might want to use a humidifier in their bedrooms to help with their breathing. It's perfectly safe to give them over-the-counter medications to help with their fevers and any pain they might be experiencing. Once I get the test results back and find out officially what we're dealing with, I'll be able to prescribe antibiotics to treat the infection. I'm going to need names, addresses and contact numbers for all of you. And if, for any reason, you feel your child's condition is getting worse or if they are having trouble breathing, please do not hesitate to contact me – day or night."

A petite, worried-looking woman steps forward. "What exactly is bacterial pneumonia?"

"It's a lung infection," Stirling explains, "caused by a bacteria. That's why we can use antibiotics to fight it. It can infect anybody at any age and usually strikes when a person is rundown or knackered – when the immune system is at its lowest. This typically occurs after a severe cold or the flu. Have any of your children recently had an upper respiratory infection?"

Several parents put their hands up.

"One worrisome issue is it's highly contagious, so I don't expect your children will be the only ones to have it."

Stirling turns to look at Louisa. "I'd expect your entire Year Two class has been exposed plus any of their friends, siblings and family members. You should probably arrange for a note to go home with each child this afternoon explaining the situation, what symptoms to look for and how the family can properly protect themselves from catching it. I can give you that information."

Louisa nods her head, wide-eyed.

Stirling takes out her notebook and a pen and sets it on the desk. "Can I please have all of you write down your name and contact information in this notebook plus the name of your child. And then you can take your little ones home."

A large, angry looking man steps toward Stirling, his fists clenched by his sides. "You seem to be acting pretty calm about all this," he snarls. "Maybe we should take our children to be checked out at the hospital."

Stirling stands calmly and counts to 10. "You are free to take your children to another doctor or the hospital and get a second opinion," she says. "That is your right as a parent. Just realize they are probably going to provide you with the exact same information that I just have; it's going to take as long, if not longer, for the test results to come back with a proper diagnosis, plus you will have dragged your highly contagious child into a doctor's surgery or hospital filled with other people who can catch the infection. The majority of people can fight off a case of bacterial pneumonia with a mild course of antibiotics. Depending on what strain it is, this illness can be extremely dangerous for older people, anyone who smokes, people with weakened immune systems, and pregnant women."

She looks at Louisa, who pales.

"But most of our children were vaccinated against pneumonia when they were babies," a young blonde-haired woman says.

Stirling nods her head. "Yes, most children in the UK receive three pneumococcal vaccinations during their first two years. This protects against pneumonia caused by Streptococcus pneumoniae. It's not 100 per cent effective and there are other bacteria that can cause pneumonia. We might be dealing with one of those."

She looks around the room at the other parents. "Any other questions? Please remember, if your child seems to be getting sicker or appears to be having problems breathing, contact the surgery immediately. Thank you."

Stirling watches as each parent writes down their information in her notebook before leaving for the infirmary to pick up their child.

She turns to Louisa. "I can help you write that information letter for the parents, provide symptoms they should be aware of, preventative measures."

Louisa nods, unconsciously reaching down to rub her hand over her rounded belly.

Stirling watches her quietly for a moment. "You really should consider excusing yourself from your position as headmistress until this pneumonia outbreak runs its course. It would be in your best interest and the baby's."

Louisa looks at Stirling somewhat shocked. "I can't do that! I can't just leave my position, leave the school without a headmistress, without any leadership. This is the time the teachers, students and parents need my guidance the most."

Stirling shifts her feet nervously and clears her throat, uncomfortable with the situation. She doesn't like playing hardball with patients but understands that sometimes, as a doctor, you have to. "There's several ways I can handle this situation," she says quietly. "I can provide you with all of the protective equipment you need – face mask, gloves, antibacterial soap – and you can follow the preventative steps I tell you to; you can voluntarily remove yourself from the school until the outbreak has run its course; I can order you, as your doctor, into quarantine at home as a safety measure for you and the baby; or, in my role as GP in this village, I can shut down the school, have it completely sterilized from top to bottom, and keep the students at home until the outbreak is over."

Louisa looks at her in disbelief. "You can't do that!"

Stirling doesn't dare blink as she looks her in the eyes. "Yes, I can. Look it up. If there's a highly contagious illness running through a community school, a GP has the power to shut down that school until it is deemed safe for the students and faculty to return. I don't want to do it, but I can if I need to."

Louisa sits down at her desk, looking somewhat shocked. "What do you suggest I do, doctor?" she asks, somewhat bitterly.

Stirling feels ashamed of her actions but knows it's the only option she has available. "I suggest you appoint an interim headmistress, pick James Henry up from the day nursery, go home and limit your exposure to other people in the community. I hope I'm wrong but I have a feeling this outbreak is going to get worse before it gets better."

Just then there is a knock on Louisa's office door and the Year Two teacher enters looking frazzled. "I have three more students with symptoms," she says, her voice quivering with emotion.

Stirling glances at the teacher and sighs, turning back to Louisa. "I rest my case."


	9. Chapter 9

Stirling spends the rest of the morning and part of her afternoon helping Louisa put together an information letter for the parents of students plus deal with a steady stream of ill children. She curses quietly when the first student from a class other than Year Two shows up in the infirmary.

"She has a younger brother in the Year Two class," Louisa explains.

Mentally, Stirling cancels out the possibility of a bad batch of vaccine. One age group of children could possibly receive a jab of ineffective vaccine but multiple age groups? Statistically unlikely._ I'm definitely dealing with something other than __Streptococcus pneumoniae_, she thinks.

She also watches Louisa pack up her belongings and appoint her most senior teacher the interim headmistress. As she prepares to leave the school, Stirling reminds her: "Take James Henry home from day nursery. It's entirely possible younger siblings of children in Year Two also go there."

Louisa nods, takes one last wistful look around the main office of the primary school and leaves.

Stirling spends another 30 minutes at the school talking with staff about hand washing and sanitizing protocols plus any concerned parents who stop by to pick up their children. About mid-afternoon, she starts the Triumph and coasts it from the primary school back to the front terrace of the surgery. As she walks through the front door, she realizes she is absolutely starving and that she's somehow managed to miss lunch. She also hasn't experienced any nausea in hours. _Maybe the key is to keep busy_, she thinks.

And with that thought echoing in her mind, she walks into a room full of complete chaos.

The first thing Stirling sees as she enters the surgery waiting room is a wide-eyed Morwenna, trying her best to answer the shrilly ringing telephone while dealing with what can only be described as a mob of panicked-looking patients who have almost completely encircled her desk, all of them demanding attention at the same time. She's actually managing to do a very good job of remaining calm, considering the circumstances, but Stirling can easily see she's almost reached her limit.

Elsewhere in the waiting room, parents and children occupy most of the seats around the perimeter, the children wrapped in blankets and shivering. A few adults are looking feverish as well as they wait.

Stirling takes a deep breath, digs deep for her best shrill dog whistle and lets it go. All heads turn her way.

"This is not the place for panic," she says calmly. "All of you, move away from the desk, be quiet and wait along the wall of the room. If there isn't a chair, stand. If you can't stand, sit on the ground. But be quiet."

She turns to Morwenna. "I'm providing you with two options. One: you can go home and isolate yourself from what appears to be a localized outbreak of bacterial pneumonia, which can be very dangerous to pregnant women. Or two: you continue to work wearing a face mask, gloves and scrubs. Your choice."

Morwenna looks up at her and then at the people in the waiting room. "I know where the supplies are," she says calmly, standing up from her desk and walking into the consulting room to suit up.

Stirling reaches across the receptionist's desk and switches the phone system to the answering machine before turning to the crowd in the waiting room. "When Morwenna returns, we're going to shift our appointment system to a triage. You will calmly and one-at-a-time approach the receptionist's desk and describe your symptoms and have your temperature taken. The sickest will be seen first."

There's some grumbling from the room but one look from Stirling silences it. _Perhaps some of the Chief's personality traits are rubbing off on me_, she thinks.

When Morwenna returns, suited, gloved and masked, Stirling explains how she wants the patients organized. She also wants everyone entering the surgery to immediately put on a face mask and wash their hands with an ethanol-based hand sanitizer, extra supplies of which will have to be ordered from the chemist. They will remove their mask and sanitize their hands again before leaving.

"Post a sign on the front door explaining the new protocol," she adds. "I've put the phone to the answering machine so please monitor the messages being left and let me know about any that are urgent. Okay?"

Morwenna nods and Stirling smiles. "Let's get started."

Masked, gloved and suited, she begins seeing patients, all in varying stages of the same fever and respiratory illness displayed by the children at the primary school. Some are children from the school, or from the day nursery, or staff from either institution or parents. Mentally, Stirling imagine the circles emanating out from the initial hot spot - the school - plus smaller circles from the day nursery and the children's homes. But who and where was the index case?

As she sees and assists patients, Stirling is also closely monitoring her email and the surgery's fax machine, hoping for test results. She knows it will take time for them to culture samples but she is hopeful.

It's only when the pale and panicked parents of Year Two student Marcus rush through the door of the surgery around 6 that evening, carrying the boy in their arms, that she finally realizes what she's dealing with.

The little boy is obviously in respiratory distress, wheezing and gasping for breath, slightly blue around the lips. But most alarming are the gobs of blood he expels with each cough. Stirling doesn't have much time for pleasantries and ceremony as she works on the little boy, who is plunked down on her examination bench. His mother is hysterical, sobbing and keening as Marcus is provided with supplemental oxygen, each cough splattering the inside of the mask with specks of blood.

"If she can't be calm, she will have to leave the room," Stirling says, looking up at the young boy's father. "He has to be kept calm and she is not helping."

He whispers to his wife, which results in even louder crying. "She has to leave," Stirling says with an edge to her voice.

At that moment, Joe walks through the open consulting room door. She's about to tell him to get out when he grabs the arm of Marcus' mother and begins to gently lead her from the room. Somehow, he manages to get her out without a scene, shutting the door behind them.

"Does Marcus have any drug allergies?" she asks his father.

"No," he whispers.

Stirling opens the drug cupboard and takes out a small ampule of streptomycin, partially filling a syringe before jabbing Marcus in the arm. She disposes of the needle, picks up the phone and calls for an ambulance.

After assessing the boy's condition and noting an improvement in breathing and colouring with the addition of the supplemental oxygen, she opens the consulting room door and walks out into the waiting room. Joe and Morwenna have managed to calm Marcus' mother, who she beckons into the room. She closes the door behind her.

"I'm fairly certain your son has pneumonic plague," she says calmly. "It's extremely rare and usually not seen in the developed world. Have you been to Africa recently?"

Both of the boy's parents stare at her in open-mouthed disbelief. "Pneumonic plague?" Marcus' dad questions. "Is that any relation to THE plague?"

"Yes," says Stirling. "It's the respiratory version of the disease and can be spread person-to-person through the air. If left untreated, it has a 100 per cent fatality rate. We're lucky we caught this early. It's typically easily treatable with antibiotics, but they should be started within 36 hours of the initial onset of symptoms."

"Does this mean my son has been bitten by fleas?"

"No, that's just one way bubonic plague can be spread. Pneumonic plague is typically spread through the air from a person or animal. Are either of you taxidermists?"

"Taxidermists? No!"

"Well, there have been cases of people contracting pneumonic plague through dead animal carcasses. But you both appear healthy. Has Marcus been around any dead animals recently?"

"NO! Have you lost your mind?"

Stirling is annoyed. "No, I have not lost my mind. I dealing with what appears to be an outbreak of pneumonic plague, a potentially fatal disease, infecting school children in Portwenn. I need to trace it back to its source and your son was the first to show symptoms. He's my index case. What has he been up to in the past week? Who has he visited? Who has visited you? Where has he been?"

The couple in front of her look at each other and, together, begin discussing their family's last seven days.

"What about Andrew?" Marcus' mother says to her husband. "My husband's university friend, Andrew, came to visit us a few days ago. He works for a large engineering firm in London and is currently overseeing a building project in Tanzania. He spent some time playing with Marcus when he was here, showing him different wrestling moves. He was on the team with my husband in university."

"Is he still in the UK?"

"I think he is planning to stay for a week and travel back next weekend," Marcus' dad says.

"I need his full name and contact information, where he works, where he lives. Is he married, have kids?"

They both shake their heads. _Best news I've heard all day_, Stirling thinks.

She walks over to her desk and picks up the phone, dialing out.

"Mrs. Tishell? Dr. Aylesworth. I apologize for contacting you after business hours but I'm going to need a rushed emergency order involving a large quantity of antibiotics, both treatment and prophylactic doses."

She lists off what she needs and hangs up. In the distance, she hears the ambulance siren. Stirling moves to pick up Marcus but his father stops her. "I'll carry him," he says, hefting his young boy up in his arms." She grabs the portable oxygen container and opens the consulting room door.

Morwenna explains Joe has gone out to help the ambulance team and a few minutes later, they enter with a stretcher. "Never a dull moment around here, eh Doc?" one of the ambulance attendants, Harry, says as he pulls the stretcher in. His partner, Paul, takes Marcus from his dad's arms, sets the boy down on the cushioned surface and begins the job of transferring over the oxygen supply. Stirling explains to Harry her suspected diagnosis and what she has administered to the young boy. Within minutes, the stretcher is being wheeled back out the door and into the back of the ambulance parked outside the front door. Marcus' parents climb in the back with Harry while Paul and Joe close up the back doors. Soon the vehicle is backing down the hill and wailing into the evening.

Stirling pulls off her mask and her gloves, taking a deep breath of fresh air. "I hate being masked," she says with a sigh, turning to Joe and Morwenna. "Feels too claustrophobic. That's one of the main reasons I didn't become a surgeon. Instead, I went into infectious disease, where you end up having to be masked most of the time anyway."

Morwenna pulls hers off as well. "You did a great job today Morwenna," Stirling says. "Thanks so much. Unfortunately, it's going to be another busy day tomorrow. You should go home, take as hot a shower as you can stand, use lots of soap, and change your clothes, putting the ones you have on straight into the wash, also on hot.

As the receptionist goes inside to gather up her belongings and remove her scrubs, Stirling remains on the front terrace, breathing deeply, staring into the darkness of the harbour.

"Busy day, eh Doctor?" Joe says quietly, standing beside her. She feels him reach and thread his fingers through those on her left hand. She smiles. "You could say that," she answers. "And it's not finished yet. Thanks for helping with Marcus' mum."

"No problem," he says. "I wouldn't have walked in like that but I was standing in the kitchen and I could hear you. She wasn't going to calm down easily."

As the adrenaline slowly dissipates in Stirling's system, for the first time in hours she feels the familiar urge. She bends over and rather unceremoniously vomits over the edge of the terrace.

* * *

Stirling is rocking back and forth in a hammock, a slight wind blowing, the sun shining down, when she hears an annoying, incessant ringing. It's drowning out the distant sound of children laughing, it's distracting her from pleasant thoughts of relaxation and being hand-fed seedless grapes by a man who looks very similar to Joe.

And suddenly she is sitting upright in her bed. The mobile phone on her bedside table is ringing. It's 2:30 a.m. according to the alarm clock.

"Hello," she says, climbing out of bed and grabbing her dressing gown. She glances at Joe, who is sprawled across the bed – thankfully still asleep – before tiptoeing into the washroom and shutting the door. "Hello?"

It's been a busy night. Using her limited supply of suitable antibiotics, she visited the homes of the majority of the area's sickest patients, administering their initial treatment shot. She would be repeating the trip tomorrow, after her emergency shipment of antibiotics is hopefully delivered. At that time she plans to also deliver protective doses of antibiotics to all caregivers and others who have been in close contact with the infected children and other infected patients.

Stirling has also been wrestling with Public Health England, filling out the required notifiable disease forms and the causative agents report form for the government's Health Protection Agency. Her test results finally came through from Truro confirming her suspicions – pneumonic plague caused by the bacteria Yersinia pestis. She also forwarded them her information on Andrew the engineer, the suspected source of the infection. She is still waiting to hear back from authorities in London.

Until now.

"Is this Dr. Aylesworth from Portwenn?" a voice asks.

"Yes," Stirling says into her mobile, tensely perched on the side of the tub.

"Dr. Aylesworth, I'm community liaison officer PC Patrick McManus with the Metropolitan Police. I'm sorry for contacting you so late but I was told you wanted to know the status of Mr. Andrew St. James as soon as he was located."

"Yes, thank you, PC McManus."

"Around 0:30 hours, two constables and a medical professional with the local branch of the Health Protection Agency attended Mr. St. James' London residence in Brixton. There was no answer at his home but permission was granted via Mr. St. James' elder brother to perform a forced entry. When they entered the apartment, Mr. St. James was found deceased."

_Shit_, thinks Stirling.

"The Health Protection Agency has sealed Mr. St. James' residence and are currently tracing his movements since he returned to the UK."

She's silent for a moment.

"Thank you for keeping me informed, PC McManus."

"I'm sorry it wasn't better news, Dr. Aylesworth. According to the representatives I've been speaking with at the Health Protection Agency, they are very impressed with the speed this outbreak has been identified and contained. There was a lot of praise for your actions."

"Just doing my job," she says quietly.

"Goodnight Doctor."

"Goodnight Constable."

After disconnecting from the call, Stirling slides down the side of the tub to the cool tile of the washroom floor, leaning her back against the freezing porcelain. She sits in the darkness, her knees curled up to her stomach, arms hugging her legs, her forehead pressed against her knees.

For a brief moment, she gives in to the emotions of the day – the thrill of the diagnostic mystery, the excitement of tracing the index case and patient zero, the elation of actually doing what she trained and specialized in for years. And then she allows herself another moment to mourn its loss, to return to the reality of being a GP in Portwenn, dedicated to the health and welfare of the residents of her community, solving the mysteries of gout and backache rather than large scale disease outbreaks. For a brief second, she feels a flare of jealousy toward her Chief, for his ability to overcome his demons, face his fears, and return to his passion. But it's quickly gone, replaced by her unwavering feelings of respect and affection for her grumpy mentor.

Stirling's not sure how long she sits there on the washroom floor, her skin covered in goose bumps, her joints stiffening. At one point, she raises her head from her knees to find Joe squatting in front of her, his hand on her arm. "Come to bed," he whispers, kissing her forehead before standing up, pulling her to her feet along with him. He leads her back to their bed, helps her under the covers and lies down beside her, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. She nestles against him, her legs twined in his, and closes her eyes, drifting away to a cloudless afternoon, the sounds of insects and children laughing echoing in her ears and the taste of seedless grapes on her tongue.


	10. Chapter 10

The next morning comes too soon. Dual beeps blare through the room followed by groans and hands flailing as Stirling and Joe reach out in opposite directions to shut off their alarms. They both roll back to the middle of the bed and hold one another, a morning ritual that allows Stirling a few more minutes to actually gain full consciousness.

"Busy day ahead," she mutters, snuggling her head on Joe's chest. "The phone is going to start ringing soon and it probably won't stop until midnight."

"You had a call rather late last night," Joe says. "Or maybe I should say rather early this morning."

"It was a constable with The Met. They tracked down patient zero but he was already dead."

"I'm sorry, baby. I know you were hoping they would find him in time."

Stirling pulls her head back from Joe's chest so she can look him in the eyes. "Baby? Are you serious?"

He looks a bit embarrassed. "Well, you have pet names you call me and I can't seem to find the right one to call you," he says plaintively. "Christopher calls you Moneypenny or Ling Ling; Michael calls you Panda Bear or Ling Ling. I don't want to call you Ling Ling, not after what happened."

Stirling shudders, cuddling closer to Joe.

"I've been trying different ones out but you hate them all," he adds.

"Little missus and baby aren't pet names; they're sexist, stereotypical labels used by men to undermine the power dynamics of women involved in heterosexual relationships."

Joe sits up in bed and looks at her with a puzzled look on his face. "What the hell are you talking about? Power dynamics?"

He's silent for a moment, thinking. "Well, if you consider those names sexist, what about what you call me? What's Lover Boy, eh?"

"Loverboy is a 1980s era rock band from Canada," Stirling says, smiling innocently.

Joe stares at her expressionless for several seconds before pouncing, using his body to hold her down and his fingers to tickle her sides. She screams and laughs as he wrestles with her.

"You're a cheeky tart, that's what you are," he says, kissing her. "I should just call you cheeky tart from now on."

They're kissing fervently when the phone begins ringing. Joe looks at the alarm clock. "It's 7:18 in the morning."

"Let the games begin," Stirling mutters, sliding out from under him and climbing out of bed. She throws on her dressing gown and rushes down the stairs, catching the call before it goes to the answering machine.

"Good morning, Portwenn Surgery," she says.

When Joe comes down the stairs a few minutes later, she is still on the phone, listening intently and adding the odd comment or question to the conversation. He walks into the kitchen and puts the kettle on before opening the refrigerator to take inventory and decide what to make for breakfast. He's still contemplating the appliance's innards when the back door opens, startling him. He turns to find Louisa standing in the doorway wearing jim jams and a dressing gown.

"Louiser?" he asks, realizing he's standing there in a T-shirt and boxer shorts.

"I need to talk to Stirling," she whispers.

And that's when he notices the blood dotting her hands and the fine red mist covering the front of her dressing gown.

"Stirling!" he bellows, helping Louisa through the door and sitting her in a chair at the kitchen table.

"What happened?" Stirling asks with concern a few seconds later, jogging down the hall from the waiting room. She looks relieved when she sees Joe standing in the kitchen. "You scared the – Louisa!"

She's instantly at the woman's side, feeling her forehead for fever. She takes in the blood and squats down in front of her. "What happened?"

"James Henry." It's all Louisa has to say before Stirling's in motion, running to the consulting room for her doctor's bag, assessing from memory what supplies are left in the pockets and compartments. She moves swiftly into the kitchen, grabbing the first pair of shoes she can find – a pair of Joe's trainers – before she's out the back door, following Louisa.

Suddenly, she turns back to Joe. "I need your help," she says breathlessly. "I left public health on hold. Tell them I was called away on an emergency and I need some assistance in Portwenn, just a couple of nurses. And there's a delivery truck expected here in about 10 minutes. Sign for the items and have them put the boxes in the consulting room."

He nods his head. "Thank you," she says, kissing him quickly before running after Louisa.

She finds her waiting at the side door of her house and Stirling quickly follows her through the doorway, down the hall, through the kitchen before and down another short hall to James Henry's bedroom. The tussle-haired boy lies in his bed, bathed in sweat but shivering, having kicked off his blankets.

"Hello James," Stirling says, dropping to her knees beside his bed. She sets her doctor's bag down and unzips it, digging for her digital thermometer with shaking hands.

James opens his heavy-lidded eyes and looks at her, a slight smile touching his bloodstained lips. "Auntie Stirling," he whispers and immediately begins coughing, watery mucous and blood running from the corner of his mouth.

She pulls the little boy upright by the shoulders, leaning him forward and rubbing his back gently. While he's erect, she pulls his jim jam top off, placing the digital thermometer under his arm and holding it there. She pulls it out after it beeps and looks at the reading – 40 Celsius.

"How long has he been like this?" Stirling asks Louisa as she takes a packaged needle and an ampule of streptomycin from her bag. She knows James Henry has no known drug allergies – she's read his patient folder in the past.

"When I put him to bed last night, he was fine," Louisa says, tears dripping down her cheeks. "I checked him again before Martin and I went to bed, he seemed a bit warm but he didn't have a temperature. This morning, after Martin left, I came in to wake him up and he was like this. I helped him to sit up and he coughed up blood everywhere."

Stirling measures out the dosage and quickly jabs the needle into James Henry's upper arm, dispensing the antibiotic. She disposes of the needle into a small plastic box she keeps in her bag.

"Has he had anything to drink yet this morning? Any water, juice?"

Louisa nods. "He had a glass of water after his first coughing attack."

"And he's kept it down?"

She nods again.

"Good," Stirling mutters, digging in another compartment of her bag and bringing out a bottle containing a thick pink liquid. She fills a needless syringe with the suspension and has James Henry open his mouth, squirting it down his throat. She offers him a drink from a half-filled glass of water sitting on his bedside table and he quickly slurps it down.

"He's going to need more to drink," Stirling says to Louisa. "He needs to stay hydrated. I'll leave you a few packages of hydrating salts to add to the water. If he'd rather have juice, be sure to water it down – half water, half juice."

She lies James Henry gently back in his bed, fluffing up his pillow on either side of his head before covering him in several layers of blankets, tucking them in under his mattress on either side.

"You close your eyes and try to get some sleep, okay mate?" she whispers to the little boy, kissing him on the forehead. "I'll be by later to check on you."

Louisa gives James Henry a kiss as well and follows Stirling back to the kitchen.

"What is it?" she asks, as Stirling cleans her hands with an ethanol-based hand sanitizer. She puts a few squirts on Louisa's hands and urges her to use it.

"It's pneumonic plague," she explains, recounting everything she knows about how the disease managed to spread from a building site in Tanzania to Portwenn and then on to the school and day nursery children. "I've given James Henry his first dose of antibiotics plus some paracetamol in suspension to help bring down his fever. Every four hours, you can give him another dose to keep his fever under control. I'll be by later to give him his second dose of antibiotics and check on him."

She gives a big sigh, eyeing Louisa. "I'm also going to be bringing a treatment of antibiotics for both you and the Chief to take. It's a preventative measure to keep the pneumonic plague from spreading. You'll need to take the oral antibiotics twice a day for a week – 14 doses. Don't worry, I'll provide you with something that is safe to take with the baby."

She digs half a dozen packets of hydrating salts out of her doctor's bag and leaves them on the table. "Don't forget to add this to his water or juice."

Louisa continues to shake, spurring Stirling to check her forehead for fever again. "I'm just coming down from the adrenaline rush," she says. "Don't worry."

"I know the coughing and blood is alarming but we've caught it in time. Antibiotics will kill the bacteria. Give him a week or two and James will be back to his old self."

Stirling packs up her bag and, tightening the tie on her dressing gown, walks down the back hall to the side door.

"If his condition changes dramatically or you have any concerns or questions, call me on my mobile," she says to Louisa.

"Thank you."

Stirling gives her a hug. "It's going to be okay."

She walks out the door and the garden gate, climbing the hill up to the surgery. She's walking through the back door into her kitchen when the first wave hits her. She races to the sink and turns on the tap, hoping to mask the sound of retching with the running water. After she's finished emptying her stomach of what little is in it, she leans her arms flat against the counter, resting her forehead on them as she fights against the second wave. But there's no stopping it. She retches again into the sink, her stomach clenching painfully and repeatedly. Her throat burns. She leans her head back down on her arms, trying to control her breathing, stop the waves of nausea rolling through her stomach.

"Stirling?"

She spins around, shocked to find Joe standing behind her, entering the kitchen from the piano room. She has enough time to register the fact he's wearing his uniform before she is forced to spin back around and retch into the sink. By the time the third wave has dissipated, he's standing by her, gently rubbing her back. She feels exhausted, a slight sheen of sweat on her face.

"Are you okay?" he asks. She nods her head, digging in the dishwasher for a clean glass, which she fills from the tap. She slowly sips the cool water, enjoying the feel of it soothing her throat.

"Why aren't you at the police station?" she asks between sips.

"I had to escort your recruits to the surgery," he says. "I also wanted to check in with you, see how it's going."

"I'm just getting back from examining James Henry. He's stable for now. I've started his antibiotic treatment but I'll have to visit again later." Stirling pauses for a moment. "What recruits?"

"Public health sent you three nurses," he says. "They're in the waiting room - waiting."

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asks, rushing down the hall.

"I just did," mutters Joe, right behind her.

Morwenna gives her a surprised look as she walks into the waiting room, clutching her doctor's bag. But Stirling is too busy examining the three women sitting along the wall by the staircase. She holds out her hand, smiling with welcome and relief.

"Hello, you must be from public health? I'm Dr. Stirling Aylesworth. Welcome to Portwenn."

The three nurses look at her and then at what she is wearing before hesitantly shaking her hand, one at a time. Stirling looks down and realizes she's still wearing her dressing gown, Joe's trainers and nothing else. She blushes, tightening the tie for the 20th time.

"My apologies. I was called out to an emergency first thing this morning and I haven't had an opportunity to change yet. Just give me a few minutes and I'll be back to discuss our plan of attack."

She quickly pounds up the stairs, Joe following right behind her. The three nurses stare as the pair go upstairs together and turn to look at Morwenna.

"Don't worry, they sort of, kind of live together," she explains with a friendly smile. "I guess there's no sort of, kind of about it; they do live together but they switch houses frequently. They're getting married in January. Really soon."

The three nurses just stare at her.

Upstairs, Stirling unties her dressing gown and steps into the washroom, turning on the shower to heat up the water. She turns around and almost runs into Joe, who grabs her by the shoulders.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asks, looking her in the eyes.

"I'm fine," she says, looking away.

"You're a terrible liar, Stirling," he says. "Last night, you vomited into the street and now this morning, I find you honking in the sink. You're still having morning sickness?"

"Yes," she says. "It's normal."

She tries to walk past him but he blocks her. "I've been reading up about this and most of the books say the nausea should be gone by the end of the first trimester. You're past 12 weeks but you're still vomiting."

"Pregnancy is not an exact science, Joe. Symptoms differ from woman to woman, pregnancy to pregnancy. I'm perfectly fine."

She manages to get by him and walks into the bedroom, choosing an outfit from her wardrobe.

"Have you been to see a doctor yet?" he asks.

"I am a doctor," she says, picking out underwear, a bra and socks.

"You know what I mean, Stirling," he says, feeling frustrated. "Have you talked to the Doc? Or arranged to have an ultrasound at the Truro hospital?"

She turns around to look at Joe, her hands on her hips. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm a little bit busy at the moment dealing with an outbreak of pneumonic plague, a potentially fatal disease. I have an entire village I have to either treat or provide with a preventative antibiotics program in the next 24 to 36 hours. I haven't been able to get a proper night's sleep, let alone make time for an ultrasound appointment in Truro. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to have a shower and get dressed."

She marches past Joe, back into the washroom, and slams the door.

"You didn't even have breakfast this morning," he yells through the door. "Or lunch yesterday. I've been reading; you have to eat regularly. Stirling?"

He tries the doorknob but it's locked. _Great_, he thinks.

Extremely annoyed, he turns and stomps out of the bedroom, thumps down the stairs and continues right out the front door, slamming it for extra effect on the way out.

Morwenna smiles and shrugs at the three wide-eyed health nurses. "I guess grumpy there didn't have breakfast either."

Suddenly, the front door opens and Joe comes stomping back in, slamming the door behind him. "How do you book an ultrasound?" he asks Morwenna gruffly, standing in front of her desk.

She stares up at him for a moment. "Doc Stirling or Doc Martin usually leave me a note on the patient file requesting the ultrasound and I book them at the hospital. But I need to know what kind of ultrasound is required so the technician is prepared."

Joe strides over to the filing cabinet and opens the top drawer, quickly scanning through A until he finds "Aylesworth, Dr. Stirling Mason." He pulls out her patient file and strides toward the consulting room.

"You can't do that," Morwenna says quickly, glancing at the three nurses, whom are all watching with great interest. Moving as swiftly as she can with an expanded stomach, she chases after him.

"Joe, you can't do that," she hisses at him as he sits behind the doctor's desk, searching for a biro in the drawers. "Those three nurses are with public health. You've just finished committing, I don't know, half a dozen privacy and Health Act violations."

"Does she typically write the request on a sticky?"

"Yes. They're in the top left drawer."

Joe opens the drawer and takes out the stack of stickies and starts writing on the top one. Morwenna watches him in open-mouthed disbelief. When he's finished, he pulls the sticky from the stack and sticks it to the front of Stirling's patient file. He puts everything away, stands up and walks back out to the waiting room. Morwenna scrambles after him.

"Please be sure to call me with the date and time," he says, setting Stirling's file on Morwenna's desk. He turns to walk out the door.

"Who do I say is requesting it?" Morwenna asks.

"Is that important?" he asks, turning back.

"Well yes. Not just anyone can request an ultrasound. It needs to be traced back to a doctor or someone else qualified to order one."

"Can Stirling order one for herself?"

"I guess so but it's typically not done. Doc Martin usually handles any health issues related to Doc Stirling."

"Doc Martin then," says Joe, turning to walk out the door. He slams it behind him for the third time.

Morwenna looks down at what he's written on the sticky. Shocked, she reads it again. As she reaches for the phone, her face stretches into a huge smile.

The three nurses look at one another and roll their eyes.

"I'm so sorry I've kept you waiting," says Stirling, rushing down the stairs, freshly showered and dressed. "Come through to the consulting room."

She glances over at Morwenna, who appears to be busy on the phone.

Once everyone is settled in the room, the three nurses introduce themselves – Anise Whitefield, Doris Woolley and Sophie Landry. Anise and Sophie are based in Wadebridge while Doris is from Bodmin.

"I'm so glad you are able to help out," says Stirling, who begins to describe her idea for a three pronged line of attack involving an antibiotic blitz at the school and day nursery; house calls with follow-up antibiotic treatments for those infected and distribution of seven-day prophylactic dosages to caregivers, other family members and siblings, and an all-day clinic based at the surgery for distributing prophylactic doses plus oral antibiotics to people with milder infections.

"I've arranged to meet with Caroline from Radio Portwenn to do a noon interview explaining what's happening and announce where people can go for treatment and protection. When I'm finished, I can help out with the house calls. Morwenna has a list and locations for everyone currently showing symptoms. I'll take the west area of Portwenn and the countryside and someone can take the east."

She soon has the three jobs delegated and each nurse properly supplied with disposable needles, syringes plus antibiotics. They also each receive their own prophylactic dose. Stirling sets aside a dose for Louisa, the Doc, Morwenna, Al, Joe and herself, double-checking the antibiotic for the women meets pregnancy category A requirements.

With everyone assigned a job, Stirling feels more relaxed leaving the consulting room. She sets Morwenna and Al's prophylactic doses on the receptionist's desk along with instructions. On her way down the hill from the surgery, she stops the Triumph and drops off Louisa and the Doc's doses. She also checks quickly on James Henry, who is sleeping comfortably with a much lower fever.

As she's about to drive out of Portwenn toward the hotel and radio station, she notices the Land Rover parked at the police station. She pulls into the car park, stops the bike and enters the reception area, peeking through the open communication window to see if Joe is in the office. He looks up at her just as she catches sight of him.

"Have you come to apologize?" he asks, setting down his biro and standing up.

Stirling gives him a surprised look. "Apologize for what?"

"Being so nasty to me earlier this morning and locking me out of the washroom," he says, folding his arms across his chest.

"Nasty? You're the one who decided to put me through the Spanish Inquisition!"

Joe's quiet for a moment, a puzzled look on his face. "I didn't mention anything about Spain! All I did was show some concern for your well being and that of our baby. And for that, I get lectured like a 10-year-old and you lock yourself in the washroom."

Stirling looks around the reception room, as if worried someone might be hiding behind the chairs or underneath one of the two-year-old magazines scattered on the side table.

"Keep your voice down," she hisses. "Do you want everyone in the village to know I'm preggers?"

"Well, now that you mention it, yes I do! But instead, I have to keep it some big, dark secret. And I'm not really sure why!"

"I haven't told the Chief yet. It's only fair that I tell him first rather than he hears it through the Portwenn gossip mill. And I'd actually prefer a big deal isn't made about it until after we're married."

"Why? Are you ashamed? Embarrassed the village idiot, who is also the local plod, got the smart London doctor up the duff?"

Stirling blushes in outrage. "How dare you! I hate it when you get this way; all insecure and full of self-doubt. It's really rather - juvenile!"

She reaches into her pocket and takes out the small pill bottle of antibiotics, slamming it down on the counter.

"I actually stopped by to give you these because – oh, I don't know – I actually care about you. They're your prophylactic antibiotic dose to help prevent you from developing pneumonic plague. Take one in the morning and one at night, preferably with food, for seven days. Or you can disregard everything I say – including the fact that I love you and I'm not ashamed or embarrassed to be carrying your baby – not take the pills, get sick and probably die."

She spins on her toe and stomps out the door, almost crashing into a fisherman coming in. "Hey, Doc," he says.

She kick starts the Triumph to life as she jams on her helmet, not even bothering to buckle it up. She turns the bike and guns the gas, just as Joe runs out the door.

"Stirling!" he shouts, ducking flying gravel as she roars out of the car park, onto the roadway and up the hill.

"Bloody hell!" he yells, kicking at the ground in a rare display of anger. He misjudges the kick, causing his other foot to slip out from under him and falls, landing with a thump flat on his back. He lies in the gravel for a moment, the wind knocked out of him, speechless with pain.

"Are you okay, Joe?" the fisherman asks, standing over the downed police sergeant.

"Just give me a minute, Nigel," he whispers.


	11. Chapter 11

Stirling roars into the hotel car park and leaves a black mark on the tarmac as she brings the Triumph to a sudden stop. She's muttering indecipherable words under her breath as she marches into the hotel, her crash helmet under her arm and her doctor's bag swinging from her hand. People get out of the way as she strides purposefully through the hotel reception area and down the hall to the radio station. She barely pauses as she opens the door and walks in.

Caroline looks up from her news briefs, a startled look on her face. "Have a care Doc!" she says sharply. "Good thing we're on break right now or you could have walked in on me live!"

"No, I wouldn't have," Stirling says calmly. "I did notice the red light was off before I came in."

Caroline makes a harrumphing noise and gestures for her to take a seat on the opposite side of the table.

"Do you have any idea how much time you're going to need?" Caroline asks.

Stirling considers the question. "Probably about five to 10 minutes. I can explain the illness, how it's suspected to have spread to Portwenn, the symptoms, the importance of seeking treatment or obtaining protective antibiotics. You can ask me a few questions if you wish or I'd even be willing to take some phone calls from the public."

Caroline's eyes shine with excitement. "Really? You'll take live questions on air?"

Suddenly Stirling's worried she's made a big mistake. "Certainly. I'm here to help and inform the public and ease their concerns. If they have questions, I'll answer them."

Within minutes, she finds herself with a microphone in front of her and a half hour slot dedicated to discussing Portwenn's current health issue. _Damn_, she thinks, feeling a slight queasiness in her stomach. She doesn't have time to deal with nausea at the moment, dreading the idea of vomiting live on the radio. Of course, there's nothing left in her stomach so it would most likely be retching instead. Either way, she needs to get it under control.

"I'm going to need a pitcher of ice water," she says to Caroline, who soon has some underling running for his life. He manages to deliver the supply just in time. Stirling pours herself a large glass as Caroline announces the live segment and introduces her.

For the next 10 minutes, Stirling dominates the radio waves. She describes the illness currently affecting the village and surrounding area, the symptoms to be cognizant of, the treatment program required, and the seven-day preventative antibiotic regime needed by anyone caring for someone who is ill or coming into close contact with anyone displaying symptoms. She explains where people can go to receive treatment or prophylactic doses, where they can call if they need home visits, the importance of seeking treatment if symptoms appear.

"This isn't an illness where you can drink fluids, rest, take over-the-counter drugs and get better," she stresses. "You must contact the Portwenn surgery if you feel you or a loved one is ill. It's vitally important you receive the necessary antibiotics as soon as possible."

For the next five minutes, Caroline lobs questions her way, which Stirling answers to the best of her ability. She outlines the involvement of Public Health England and the Health Protection Agency, the three nurses currently assisting in delivering the treatment and prevention programs in the community, how to contact them or herself, even after hours; every piece of information she can possibly think of she shares with the public.

And then Caroline opens the phone lines to the station's listeners.

The first caller is Gwen from Portwenn. "Hello? Doc Stirling? I was wondering whether you and Sergeant Penhale are registered anywhere for wedding gifts. The hubby and I are having a hell of a time deciding what to get you two. I'm leaning toward a gift basket of preserves but he thinks we should go with smoked fish. Can you help us out?"

For possibly the first time in her life, Stirling is struck speechless. The seconds of dead air tick by as she – the woman who seriously thought she had an answer for everything – grapples with the last question on Earth she is expecting during a phone-in show in the midst of a public health issue. Caroline is waving madly, gesturing for her to talk. "Uuuhhhh," she stutters, horrified by the uncertainty in her voice. "Gwen, is there anything you want to ask me in regards to the illness currently affecting Portwenn?"

"No, it sounds like you have it well in hand. I'm just concerned about finding you a suitable wedding gift."

Stirling closes her eyes and silently curses.

"I'm sure whatever you give us will be wonderful," she manages to spit out, staring wide-eyed at Caroline.

"Oh, that's so sweet of you to say," Gwen gushes.

After the call is disconnected, Stirling leans toward the radio show host. "Is there any way you can screen these calls?" she whispers. "There must be people waiting on the line with legitimate questions?"

Caroline looks through the glass into the control room where her technician is shaking his head.

The next call is from Lester at Knotty Root Farm. "I'm wondering if we should be out with our shotguns killing rats?" he asks. "When I was a boy, we was told the plague was spread by being bitten by fleas living on rats. I was thinking, if we could get a big hunting party together, we could probably kill all of the rats in the Portwenn area in a couple of days, maybe even a couple of hours."

"Well, that's an interesting idea, Lester," says Stirling. "The problem is, pneumonic plague isn't spread by rats or fleas. It spreads by being in close proximity to someone with the illness who is coughing. The bacteria move through the air in water droplets, which can be breathed in or picked up from a surface where the bacterium lands. One advantage we have is the bacteria responsible for pneumonic plague can only survive in the environment for about 60 minutes and they are easily killed by using ethanol-based cleaners or antibacterial soaps."

"So you're saying there's a big group of coughing and sneezing rats running around Cornwall?"

"No!" says Stirling, wondering how he possibly came to that conclusion. "You can only get this illness from another person. Perhaps somewhere down the line, someone was bit by an infected flea from a rat but the illness manifested itself in the respiratory system rather than the more traditional route of the lymphatic system."

"Nymphs are involved too?" asks Lester. "Those little insects?"

"NO! There are no nymphs involved!"

The third caller is Bryce from Long Lane Farm. "You know, I think Lester might have the right idea. We should get a group of farmers together and just kill all the rats. Or maybe use poison bait. We could get rid of some badgers at the same time. You know, no one respects the hard work farmers put in to producing food and caring for the land. They just want to dictate to us what we can shoot and when. And this is a perfect example of what can happen when we allow special interest groups to tell us what we can and cannot do on our own property. The rat population builds and the plague is back."

Stirling can actually feel a scream of impatience building in the back of her throat. It's either that or she's going to vomit out of pure frustration.

"Bryce, I'll explain it again. Rats are not responsible for the pneumonic plague currently affecting the Portwenn area. The theory is it spread into the area via a gentleman visiting from Tanzania who inadvertently spread it to a school age child who then spread it to his siblings and classmates. No rats or fleas or nymphs were involved."

Bryce is silent for a moment. "You know, this is a perfect example of what can happen when we allow our government to get lax on immigration controls. We allow just anyone into this country …."

Stirling can't control herself any longer. With a panicked look in her eyes, she glances around the room until she spots what she needs. Jumping up from her chair, she seizes the waste bin and vomits in it.

* * *

It's midnight by the time Stirling parks the Triumph at the front of the surgery. It's been a good day; well, it improved immensely after she honked into the waste bin live on the radio.

She and Anise managed to visit every home bound patient in the surrounding area showing symptoms of pneumonic plague. Those capable of swallowing on their own were given oral antibiotics while a list was compiled of those requiring injections. All family members also received prophylactic antibiotic treatments. Doris had a busy day at the primary school and day nursery as well. Every student and staff member at both locations was assessed for the illness and appropriate treatments provided to them and their families.

Meanwhile, Sophie and Morwenna staffed the surgery, providing antibiotic treatments to those needing them plus handing out dozens of prophylactic dosages.

The three nurses are staying at The Crab and Lobster overnight and will continue to assist tomorrow.

_Thank god_, Stirling thinks, unlocking the front door.

Before coming home, she stopped in next door to visit James Henry and dispensed his second antibiotic shot. It had provided her an opportunity to confer with the Chief. After putting her through a 20 minute debrief on the health of his son, he asked for several ampules of streptomycin. He would be administering the little boy's treatment from that point forward.

She understood his feelings on the matter. If the roles were reversed, she'd probably do the same thing. "You know where to find more," she said, handing him all the supply she had.

"How many people in the area are actively sick?" he asked.

"Forty-eight."

"Of that, how many are mild cases?"

"Thirty."

"So you basically have 18 serious cases?"

"Actually, 10 of those 18 are what I would describe as typical or average cases," Stirling says. "Eight I would describe as critical. Of those, three are at Truro hospital, all children, and all among the first ones to become ill."

"I've been to visit them," the Doc says. "They are improving daily under the antibiotic treatment."

"The five at home are also showing improvement since the injections were started. It will be interesting to see how they are in a week's time."

"How many prophylactic doses have you distributed?"

"Two hundred and fifty-seven."

He gives her an appraising look. "In a week, we'll see how successful your antibiotics program has been. If you have no more cases, you'll have beaten it."

"I hope so, Chief."

"Stop by tomorrow around this time and we'll discuss how the situation is progressing."

"Goodnight," she said, walking toward the door. "Oh, and don't forget to take your own antibiotics as well."

The Chief had merely grunted.

Now Stirling staggers through the front door with her doctor's bag plus the saddlebags from the Triumph. She needs to repack them with antibiotic supplies for tomorrow. She leaves the bags on her desk in the consulting room to deal with in the morning and wanders into the kitchen. She's starving. She opens the refrigerator and is surprised to be greeted by a large slab of lasagna that appears to have been carved into the shape of – something, she's not sure what exactly.

"It's supposed to be a rat," a male voice says from the dark piano room. "But it ended up looking more like – I don't know what the hell it looks like. I'm not very artistic. Sam inherited all those genes."

"A rat?" Stirling asks, closing the refrigerator and walking into the dimly lit piano room. Joe sits in the big padded chair in the corner, his feet up on the matching footstool. "I take it then you were listening to my educational and highly entertaining interview on Radio Portwenn this afternoon."

"I wouldn't have dared miss it," Joe says. "I particularly liked that parting comment you made when you threw up in the waste bin – I'm guessing it was a waste bin since that is your current favourite container to honk in."

Stirling blushes in embarrassment.

"Don't worry, Cheeky, you got your point across. Of course, tomorrow I'll be dealing with increased public complaints about rats in the streets and farmers shooting in the fields."

Joe gestures her over and she curls up on his lap, her head against his chest, cushioned by his blue pullover. "Cheeky?" she asks.

"I told you this morning, I'm going to call you Cheeky Tart. But I thought I'd shorten it to just Cheeky. It suits you better."

"Okay, Lover Boy," she says with a smile, giving him a kiss which he enthusiastically returns.

"What are you doing down here still in uniform?" she asks. "Why didn't you go up to bed? You didn't have to wait for me."

"Well, actually I did because I'm probably going to need your help getting up the stairs."

She looks at Joe with some concern. "Why?"

"I hurt my back today."

"When did you do that?"

"Just after you spewed gravel in my face driving out of the police station car park in a huff."

"Your back was hurt by flying gravel?"

"No, I was angry and tried to kick the ground but missed, resulting in me falling over backwards and landing on my back in the gravel."

Stirling tries desperately not to laugh but a few snickers and snorts manage to escape.

"Luckily, Nigel was there to help me into the office at the station. I've taken some paracetamol but it still hurts like hell."

"Let me look at it," she says, standing up.

"You can look at it later. Now, I'd feel a lot better if you had something to eat. I put a lot of effort into that lasagna and I'd really hate to see it go to waste."

"Want to share some with me?"

"I'd love to but you're going to have to help me up and over to the table."

Stirling pulls Joe up out of the chair and supports him as he stiffly shuffles to the kitchen table. She gently helps him sit down in a straight-backed chair. "I feel like an old man," he grumbles.

"Well, let me look at it, Gramps." She reaches down to pull up the back of his pullover so she can examine his back but he swats her hand away with a gasp of pain.

"Don't be such a doctor!" he says. "You can look at it later. Heat up your rat."

She laughs as she pulls the lasagna out of the refrigerator and puts it in the microwave to heat up. She takes two plates out of the cupboard and sets them on the table along with glasses and cutlery.

"Would you like the usual?" she asks, opening the refrigerator.

"Yes, please," Joe says with a smile. She sets the milk container next to him and puts a jug of water near her place.

She checks on the lasagna and takes it out of the microwave, setting it on the table between them.

Stirling takes her knife and carefully slicing through the centre of the lasagna, both sides separating and falling over.

"You should have been a surgeon, Cheeky. That was perfectly done."

"I do know how to use a knife," she says with arched eyebrows.

"I've never doubted that for one minute."

As they sit and enjoy their very late dinner, Stirling watches Joe. "Are you still angry with me?"

He looks up at her and thinks for a moment before nodding his head. "Yeah, I'm still a bit cheesed off at your behaviour."

"Why?"

He chews thoughtfully. "I had a lot of time to puzzle over it this afternoon as I reclined in my office chair in immense pain." He looks her in the eye. "I think you're coasting. You're not really planning ahead or even thinking of the future. And I haven't been able to figure out why."

Stirling looks up from her meal, concerned. "I don't understand. What do you mean, coasting?"

"You want some examples? Okay. You finally agree to marry me but it takes weeks – and constant hounding by me – before you decide on a date. We're getting married in about 30 days and you still haven't done anything about your wedding dress. It's still sitting right over there in its sealed storage box where I left it weeks ago. You haven't even tried it on. You don't even know if it fits, how much altering needs to be done to it or whether it can even be finished in time."

Stirling looks at the large box sitting against the far wall of the piano room and feels a sense of panic settle into her stomach. _He's right; I've had that dress for weeks and has done nothing with it_.

"We've had no discussion about the future, including where we are going to live. Here; the police station? When do we make the move? How are we going to combine two households into one? What stays, what goes? And where are we going to put that?"

Joe points at the Steinway, which makes Stirling feel even more apprehensive.

"I don't even want to really talk about the baby," he says quietly, picking at his food. "It's become a bit of a sore point with me. To be honest, I'm just glad you finally told me because since then, you haven't wanted anyone to know about the pregnancy. You haven't even said anything to the Doc yet, someone who really needs to be told. You don't want to see a doctor, have an ultrasound, or even tell anyone the news. And it is exciting news, Stirling. I know I'm very excited."

She can feel tears beginning to sting her eyes. _Have I been coasting? Avoiding? But it's been so busy. And yet, has it? Sure, the past few days have been crazy but what about before? There's been lots of opportunity to discuss future living arrangements, find someone to alter the dress. What the hell am I doing?_

Suddenly she feels incredibly exhausted – and incredibly ill. She presses her hand over her mouth and runs for the waiting room loo. On her knees in front of the toilet, she loses her dinner. By the time she's done, her stomach is empty. She lowers the lid and flushes the toilet, before sitting back on her bum, unsteady and emotional. She puts her face in her hands and sobs.

"Come on Cheeky, stand up," she hears Joe say. "If my back wasn't killing me right now, I'd pick you up. But I can't so you're going to have to work with me."

She feels him pull her up onto her feet, putting his arm around her waist and hobbling slowly toward the stairs. One step at a time, they somehow make it to the hallway upstairs and finally to the bedroom. He sits her on the edge of the bed and removes her clothing, slowly and gently. The entire time she is crying. He lays her down and covers her with the duvet before grunting and groaning his way through the removal of his own clothes. He lies down next to her and shuts off the light.

He pulls her to him, holding her tight against his chest as she sobs. She can feel his hands rubbing up and down her back, trying to soothe her. "It's okay," he whispers, over and over again. She feels like she will never stop crying. Eventually, she finds her voice, telling him how sorry she is. "It's all been so overwhelming," she hiccups. She wraps her arms around Joe and tries to pull him even closer than he already is. "I am excited about the baby," she whispers in his ear. "And I was so excited to tell you. I even planned out how I would do it."

He hugs her tighter, kissing her neck and shoulder.

"But the morning sickness makes me nervous, tense. And the tenser I become, the worse the nausea is. I've found that if I stay busy, avoid thinking about the baby, I don't have the nausea the same."

He pulls back from her and brushes her hair from her forehead, wiping her tears from her face with his thumbs. "You can't just avoid something in hopes the problem will go away on its own."

"I know," she whispers, her nose rubbing against his. "But I thought if I can just get through the outbreak, I can deal with it then."

He kisses her gently. "What about the dress, Stirling?"

She feels the tears rising again. "I don't know," she says in a wavering voice. "I don't know why I've been avoiding it. Maybe it's because it reminds me of my parents, of my mum. I don't know."

She sniffles against Joe's chest, leaning against him as he tightens his arms around her. "But I do know one thing," she says.

"What's that?"

"We should move into the police station, the sooner the better."

He props himself up on his elbow in surprise. "You want to move into the police station?"

"Yes. It's bigger there, more room. And I think it will be easier to attract a doctor to cover for me when the baby comes if there's a place for him or her to live."

"You'd be willing to move to the police station?"

"You're having a difficult time with this," she says, smiling at Joe's surprise through her tears. "Why do you find it so hard to believe?"

"I thought you wouldn't want to move from here. I thought you'd want to be closer to your patients, to your work."

"And I thought the same about you. I knew there would have to be a compromise and I decided I would be the one to do it. We can easily arrange for the after hours emergency phone line to be forwarded to the police station. I was also thinking, if you need a policeman, sometimes you need a doctor; if you need a doctor, you don't usually need a policeman."

He shakes his head in disbelief. "Sometimes you surprise me," he says with a laugh. "I thought that would be the biggest battle of them all."

Stirling smiles, pulling him to her for a kiss. "Not even close. We haven't started discussing baby names yet."

They are kissing ardently when Joe stops suddenly, pulling back to look at her. "The piano isn't going to fit in the police station," he says quietly.

"I know," she answers. "I'll keep it where it is at the surgery for now. I can still play it before and after work, even lunch. I would like a piano at home though. Maybe we can fit an upright in somewhere?"

"Definitely," he says, returning his lips to hers.


	12. Chapter 12

Stirling sighs as she sits back in the comfortable armchair in the Doc's home office. She can feel the tension leaving her body as she relaxes into the chair back, a small cushion strategically placed in the small of her back. It's been another long day but a productive one; a satisfying one.

She's pleased with the patient results she's been seeing since the antibiotic treatment program was launched several days ago. Based on the number of new infections reported to the surgery – zero in the past two days – it's looking like Portwenn may finally be seeing the end of the pneumonic plague outbreak. At least, that's what she's hoping.

_It would be amazing if the majority of patients fully recover by Christmas_, she thinks.

Every evening after she finishes the appointments in the surgery and any home visits, Stirling stops in to visit the Doc in his home office and discuss the day's progress, how the infected patients are feeling, how James Henry is recovering.

As she closes her eyes and leans her head back against the chair, the door opens and the Doc enters with two tall glasses of ice water.

"Thank you, Chief," she says, taking the glass from his outstretched hand. She takes a couple of swallows and sets the drink down on the small table between their chairs.

He folds his tall body into the seat across from her and takes a long drink from his glass before setting it aside. "I've been reading your updates," he says, referring to the short status emails she has been sending to Public Health England, the Health Protection Agency and also forwarding to him. "Impressive results. The program seems to be working extremely well. James Henry's condition has improved immensely in just the last few days. And the three serious cases in the hospital at Truro have all been sent home."

Stirling nods. "I was by their homes to visit them today. They've been able to transfer over to oral antibiotics. Actually, I have no serious cases left requiring injection of treatments."

"And how are things at the surgery? Getting back to normal?"

"Yes. I never thought I'd say this but it's a bit of a relief to deal with regular issues like stitches and irregular bowel movements."

The Doc grunts.

"Louisa is extremely pleased that she will be able to return to work next week," he says, leaning forward in his chair and taking another drink from his glass. "James Henry should be well enough to stay home with a sitter by then as well."

He leans back and gives her an appraising look. "Very well handled, Dr. Aylesworth," he says quietly.

Stirling tries very hard not to blush and grin like an idiot. Praise from a senior doctor to a junior one is difficult to obtain; praise from the Chief is almost unheard of. And lately she's been on the receiving end of a couple of positive comments. She's almost feeling cocky as she basks in his approval.

_Maybe now would be a good time to let him know the news?_

"I have some news," she says at exactly the same time the Doc states: "I have something to discuss with you."

Stirling laughs. "You go first, Chief."

He clears his throat and leans forward in his chair again. "The hospital in Truro has offered me the position of head of surgery."

Stirling gasps and smiles, impulsively leaning forward and giving the Doc a kiss on the cheek. "Congratulations, Chief," she says enthusiastically.

He blushes slightly, making a happy-sounding noise in his throat.

"After a lot of consideration and family discussions, I've decided to accept the post. We will remain in Portwenn given Louisa's position at the school and our attachment to the community. But this development leaves the surgery understaffed if we maintain our current arrangement. When we originally made our agreement, I had discussed the possibility of this occurring in the future. I told you then I would offer you first opportunity to purchase the surgery from me and take over the practice full-time."

Stirling is slightly shocked.

_Why does everything happen all at once?_

"Despite my initial misgivings, you have managed to fit in very well here and have formed attachments in the village. I have to ask you: Are you interested in taking over the surgery full-time?"

She is silent for several seconds, thinking of Joe, the baby, the future and how it will all work together.

"When were you planning on starting the hospital position?" she asks.

"It's been left open at the moment. I wanted to see how open you were to the idea before committing to an actual date. I'm expecting it wouldn't happen until after you return from your honeymoon in late January."

She nods her head. "I am very open to the idea. I'd be interested in discussing the financial terms, how much you are asking for the surgery, what amount you would like for a down payment, whether you're willing to hold the mortgage or if I should approach a bank. But I'm getting married in a month; I'm going to need to discuss this development with Joe."

The Doc looks annoyed but nods his head in agreement. "I understand. In regards to the financial terms, have your solicitor contact my solicitor; I can give you his particulars. I'd rather not deal with Mr. Aubrey personally on legal matters, if you plan on having him represent your interests. My solicitor can have that pleasure."

Stirling looks down at the floor to try to hide her smile. "I'm very happy for you Chief. I know how much you enjoy the surgical side of medicine and this is a great career move."

He grunts in reply. "Oh yes, you had mentioned there was something you wished to discuss."

He looks at her expectantly.

She's not 100 per cent sure how her news is going to be greeted now that he has informed her of his future plans. She definitely won't be able to ask him to care for her during her pregnancy. _Maybe he won't be open to the idea of selling the surgery to me when he finds out I'm pregnant,_ she considers.

"Dr. Aylesworth?"

Stirling realizes she's been so wrapped up in considering his possible reactions, she's forgotten to answer his actual question. "I hope this doesn't change the arrangement we're considering," she says.

The Doc gives her a curious look. "I can't imagine anything you could say that would."

_He must not have much of an imagination_, she thinks.

"I'm currently somewhere between 12 to 14 weeks pregnant," she says quietly.

Silence. She watches him, waiting for the inevitable outburst.

Silence. When it comes, it makes her jump in her chair.

"WHAT!"

"I'm currently somewhere between 12 to 14 weeks pregnant."

He stares at her. "Do you wish to continue to be?"

Stirling chokes slightly on the sip of water she chooses to take at that moment.

"Yes!" she coughs.

"This is something you planned?"

"Yes."

He gives her a shocked look. "Why? You're not even married yet!"

She gives him a look of disbelief. "You're going to lecture me about having children out of wedlock? Are you joking?"

The Doc opens his mouth to say something but closes it. "Does Penhale know?"

"Yes."

"Is that why you're marrying him?"

"No!" she answers, feeling indignant. "He asked me to marry him and we set a date before we knew about – this, the pregnancy. It's not the reason we're getting married. I love him and want to spend the rest of my life with him and he feels the same."

The Doc makes a strange sound in his throat, as if expressing disbelief.

"When are you due?"

"I'm estimating mid to late June."

"You don't know for sure? You haven't had an ultrasound to date the pregnancy?"

"No, I haven't."

"Who is monitoring you?"

"I had been hoping to ask you but it's obvious, with your new position, that will no longer be possible. I will have to investigate OB-GYNs available in Bodmin and Truro or maybe even Wadebridge."

The Doc sighs and sits back in his chair again. "I have some suggestions I can share with you."

"I'd appreciate that, Chief."

"What are you planning to do when the baby arrives?"

_This is worse than my medical oral exam_, she thinks.

"I have a friend who is looking for a locum position in a holiday area for the summer so he can work and spend his spare time with his young family. He's currently a GP in London. I was hoping to tempt him to Portwenn and provide him lodging at the surgery."

"How long do you think he would be willing to cover for you?" the Doc asks.

"I'm thinking from June to the end of September."

"That's four months."

"Yes."

"Who would care for the baby after you return to work?"

"I have been considering hiring a full-time nanny to care for the baby at the surgery during the day so I would be able to continue breast feeding."

The Doc is quiet for a few moments, studying her.

"What does Penhale think of this?"

"He's getting used to the idea," she says. "He understands my job is important to me."

She can see the Doc is getting frustrated with her answers.

"Do you really think you'll be able to take over the surgery full-time while in the final months of your pregnancy?"

"Yes," Stirling says with no hesitation.

"Are you sure? You're going to be tired, even exhausted some days."

"I understand how a pregnancy works," she says, feeling like he's treating her like a child.

He throws up his hands in disgust and stands up from his chair, striding over to the window behind his desk. He either stares out into the darkness or watches their reflections in the glass, she's unable to tell which. He turns around to look at her.

"I can't believe you've done this," he mutters.

"Done what?" she asks incredulously. "Become pregnant? It happens to more than 200 million women worldwide each year. I'm just such a rebel!"

"Don't start quoting statistics at me," the Doc says imperiously. "I can rhyme off numbers also, such as 47 per cent of marriages in the UK end in divorce and there are 1.8 million single parent households across the country."

"What does that have to do with anything?" she asks, puzzled. Suddenly, her eyes widen. "This doesn't have anything to do with me; this has to do with Joe. You don't think he's very good husband and father material. Right?"

The Doc looks somewhat uncomfortable, unable to meet her eyes. He opens his mouth several times like he's about to say something but stops himself.

"He's been divorced before," he says quickly, pointing at her.

"His wife left him!" Stirling says, a little shocked by the turn this conversation has taken.

"Can you blame her?"

"Yes, I can!" she says. "And I can probably lay some blame at his feet, too, if I was the judgemental type. But this is ancient history. The current Joe Penhale, who probably at this moment is making dinner for me and wondering where the hell I am, is not the same Joe Penhale who married Maggie Reid all those years ago. People change."

"No, they don't," the Doc says haughtily. "He is just as much an idiot as he was on the first day I met him."

Stirling chokes back the angry, expletive-filled retort she can feel rising in the back of her throat. She's had just about as much as she can take of this idiot name-calling business. Sitting forward in her chair, she's about to get up and leave when a memory pushes through her outrage. She turns toward her mentor.

"You did, Chief," she reminds him quietly.

He looks up sharply from his desk, where he is standing examining the cover of the latest issue of the British Medical Journal.

"What?" he asks.

"You changed."

He looks shocked for a moment. "That's different. And really none of your business."

"Oh, sort of like you and this situation," she says sweetly.

The Doc lets out a frustrated sigh. "I am merely concerned for your well being," he says. "I don't want to see you make a mistake."

"I'm 34-years-old," she says, standing up and folding her arms across her chest. "I don't think I require a father figure at this point in my life. But thanks," she adds sarcastically.

"A father figure?" he asks incredulously. "To a stubborn, rude, mulish, unmanageable idiot such as yourself? Now that would be a nightmare!"

"You're such a charmer," she says, shaking her head and laughing ruefully. "Well, it would appear you have nothing to be concerned about. This idiot is going to marry the idiotic police sergeant and together their going to have an idiot baby and live idiotically ever after."

She moves to walk out the office door.

"I'm glad you find all of this so amusing," the Doc says to her departing back.

She turns back to face him. "Actually, I don't, but it's either laugh or cry. I choose laughter because I feel like I've already cried enough lately. I also refuse to think the expected arrival of a baby is something to be upset about, especially a baby as anticipated and loved as this one is."

She turns back to the door and opens it, tears stinging her eyes, and almost runs into Louisa, who is standing just outside the doorway.

She takes one look at Stirling's teary face and puts her arms around her, drawing her in as close as she can with her rounded, pregnant belly. Louisa looks up at the Doc as she tries to steady Stirling's shaking shoulders, which vibrate with every sob.

"I could hear the pair of you arguing from the other side of the house," she says, her voice as sharp as a knife. "I was concerned you were going to wake James Henry. Then, after I came closer, I became concerned you were both going to say something you might regret later. I see I am too late."

"She's pregnant," the Doc says defensively, pointing at Stirling.

Louisa smiles and hugs the sobbing female doctor closer. "Aces!" she says with a laugh. "That's wonderful news, Stirling. Congratulations. I'm sure Joe is very excited."

Stirling pulls back from Louisa's shoulder, laughing through her tears. "Yes, he is; very excited."

The Doc looks at Louisa, feeling somewhat incensed by her nonchalance about the situation. "She seems to think she'll be able to run a busy, rural medical practice successfully and be pregnant at the same time."

Louisa gives her husband a patient look. "Martin, I know you have a hard time believing this fact, but there are many, many women who manage to perform their jobs competently and successfully while pregnant. They even manage to continue doing so after their babies are born. If there were no women who could do this, I do believe anarchy would reign."

Just then, there is knocking at the side door. Worried the noise might wake James Henry, Louisa quickly opens the door and finds Joe standing outside.

"I'm sorry to bother you this late Louiser but I'm looking for Stirling. Is she here?"

Stirling wipes at her tear-stained face, trying to look presentable, and then gives up, knowing it's hopeless. She peeks her head around the corner of the office doorway, looking down the short hallway toward Joe. "I'm sorry, Joe. I know I'm late. I lost track of time."

He looks at her, concerned. "Are you okay? Have you been crying?"

He turns to Louisa who shakes her head at him slightly. "Not now," she whispers very softly to him.

"Well, I better get home," says Stirling, sniffling slightly. "Goodnight, Louisa. Goodnight, Chief."

She walks toward Joe but stops when she hears the Doc's voice.

"Dr. Aylesworth," he says, coming out of his office. She turns to look back at him.

"You'll need this," he says, handing her a piece of paper. "Get Aubrey to contact him and get all the details."

She looks down at the piece of paper, clasped tightly between her fingers. She looks up at him.

"Thanks Chief," she says softly.

She reaches out for Joe's hand and he leads her out the side doorway, into the garden and through the gate. She leans her head against his shoulder as they walk up the hill toward the surgery together.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asks, putting his arm around her as they walk.

"Everything's fine," she says with a smile, kissing him on the cheek. "Everything is just fine."


	13. Chapter 13

At lunch time on Monday, December 10, Stirling is sitting at her desk in the consulting room at the surgery, examining the latest copy of the Cornish Guardian, when she feels an overwhelming wave of exhaustion roll over her. One minute she's reading an article outlining a proposed horseback riding trail through Bodmin Moor, the next her nose is pressed against the newsprint, a puddle of drool forming on the page.

She sits up with a gasp._ What the hell just happened?_ she wonders.

Admittedly, it's been incredibly busy the last few weeks. But, thankfully, the pneumonic plague battle of Portwenn is pretty much over, the outbreak defeated by a double-edged attack of antibiotic treatment for the ill and prophylactic doses for the healthy. It's been more than 10 days since a new case has been diagnosed, which, according to Public Health England and the Health Protection Agency protocol, means the outbreak is officially over. The three public health nurses on loan from Bodmin and Wadebridge are back at their base office locations and the surgery and community has slowly returned to normal. Stirling has only a handful of patients still feeling the effects of the illness but she expects they should be completely recovered in the next few weeks.

_So why am I still feeling so exhausted?_ she wonders. _I've heard of pregnancy making you tired but this is ridiculous._

She is still puzzling over her strange falling-asleep-while-reading experience when she hears the back door open and a familiar voice call her name.

"I'm in the consulting room, Joe," she says, folding up the newspaper.

She looks up as he strides into the room and arches her eyebrows in surprise. "Going undercover?" she asks as he stands before her in civilian clothes.

"No," he says with a smile. "I have the afternoon off. I'm here to pick you up."

Stirling smiles and considers opening the newspaper again. "Must be nice to have an afternoon off," she says wistfully. "I, unfortunately, do not so, unless you're picking me up to treat me to a very quick lunch, I'm not going anywhere."

"Actually, you do have the afternoon off," Joe says patiently.

Stirling looks up at him with a slight frown. "I do not."

"Check the appointment book," he says, gesturing to Morwenna's desk.

She pushes away from her desk and stands up, giving Joe a puzzled look as she passes him on her way to the waiting room. She glances at the day's appointments. A line has been drawn through the afternoon of December 10 with the words "Doc Stirling off for appointment" written beside it.

Stirling looks up at Joe. "What appointment?"

He looks at his watch. "We have to go or we'll be late," he says, putting his arm around her shoulders and steering her toward the front door. He grabs her coat and helps her put it on.

"What is going on here?" she asks, getting an edge to her voice. "I hate this surprise stuff. I think I told you that the last time you did this, which I recall wasn't that long ago. Maybe you're having memory lapses again. Have you experienced a blow to the head recently?"

She leans forward to look into Joe's eyes, searching for some pupil dilation or other sign of brain damage, which makes him laugh. "We have to hurry," he says, grabbing her arm and handbag and pulling her out the door. He grabs her keys out of her coat pocket and locks the door before leading her to the Land Rover, parked out front and already facing down the hill. He leads her over to the passenger side and helps her in. She's settling into the seat when she notices a box of chilled bottled water sitting on the floor.

"Feeling thirsty?" she asks Joe as he climbs in and starts the vehicle.

"Not especially but thanks for asking. Those are for you." He checks his watch again as he starts the Land Rover and puts it in gear. "And you better break one open and drink it down. You have just over an hour to fill your bladder."

Stirling turns in the seat and stares at Joe as he drives out of Portwenn toward the A39. She's silent for about a minute as she continues to stare at him, her face appearing to be fused in a look of disbelief. It's making Joe feel more than a little nervous.

"You have got to be kidding?" she finally asks in a low voice. "You are kidnapping me to take me to a sonogram appointment?"

"I didn't kidnap you," Joe protests. "You climbed into the Land Rover willingly. I didn't force you at all."

He waits with some apprehension as she sits there, staring at the box of chilled water. As she reaches forward and grabs a bottle, he breathes in a gasp of air. He didn't realized he was holding his breath.

"Who booked it?" she asks as she cracks open the lid seal and takes a long drink.

"Morwenna."

"Who ordered it?"

He's silent for a moment. "I did."

For the next 30 seconds or so, Stirling is kept busy coughing and spluttering water all over herself as she chokes. Joe pulls over to the side of the road in concern and is about to start pounding her on the back but she holds up a finger in warning. He waits until she's managed to recover and begin breathing normally before carefully easing back on the road. He hands her a box of tissues to wipe up the water covering her coat.

"You ordered a sonogram?" she finally manages to choke out. "How in the hell did you manage to do that?"

"Well," Joe begins. "I took your patient file out of the filing cabinet, put a sticky on the outside ordering a pregnancy dating ultrasound and then forged the Doc's signature. Then I left the folder on the reception desk," he adds, fudging the details so he doesn't get Morwenna in trouble.

Stirling sits with her head in her hands for several moments and gives a big sigh. "Do you know you've broken several privacy laws and violated the country's Health Act?"

"Look, you weren't getting around to booking the appointment for yourself so I helped you out. If you like, I can probably help you find a doctor, too, since you haven't got around to arranging that either."

She gives Joe a dirty look. "I have a great idea – since you're being so helpful, how about you have the baby too!"

Joe looks over at her and smiles. "You know I can't do that, Cheeky. It's biologically impossible. Aren't you supposed to be some smart, genius doctor?"

Stirling growls in frustration and throws the water bottle lid at him, watching as it bounces off the side of his head, rebounding back to hit her as well.

"Hey! No throwing things at the driver while the vehicle is in motion," Joe says angrily.

Stirling leans back against the Land Rover seat, banging her head rhythmically against the head rest. "I can't believe you went into the filing cabinet and took my patient file," she says. "Where was Morwenna when all this was going on?"

"The loo," he says quickly. "I waited until she had to use the loo."

The pair sit in silence for several minutes. Stirling finishes her first bottle of water and reaches for a second. Already she feels the need to go pee – badly. "I wish you hadn't mentioned the loo," she says quietly, leaning her head against Joe's shoulder. He shifts his arm and puts it around her. She closes her eyes and slowly drifts off. She doesn't even wake when he removes the half full bottle from her hand and drinks it as they drive along.

It's only when the Land Rover stops and is parked in the Truro hospital car park that her eyes finally open. She looks around, surprised. "We're here already?"

"You've been asleep for the past 45 minutes," Joe says with a laugh. He glances at his watch. "We better get in there. Not much time before your appointment."

As Stirling jumps down from the Land Rover seat, she swears she can feel the liquid sloshing in her bladder. She has to go pee so badly, it hurts. She winces as she walks toward the hospital with Joe, holding his hand.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

"I really, really, really need to go pee," she says quietly.

"Good," he says, looking quite chuffed with himself. "You're prepared for the ultrasound. But just in case," he says, handing her another bottle of water.

It's sunny and relatively warm in Truro so they decide to walk outside to the Princess Alexandra Wing, where the maternity services are housed. They walk hand-in-hand along a paved path leading up to the maternity department entrance.

With every jarring step, Stirling feels like she's going to lose control of her bladder. She becomes extremely agitated as they approach the entrance and discovers a small play garden across the way, featuring a whimsical fountain for children to enjoy. "Some sick, sadistic bastard designed the location of that," she says, pointing at the splashing fountain with a shaking finger as she struggles not to pee.

Joe makes a strange noise as he tries to sound sympathetic to her plight. Unfortunately, it just ends up sounding like a choked-off giggle, which it is.

As they enter the busy wing, they follow the signs to the sonogram department. Just outside the door to the reception area, a large group of men are sprawled on leather chesterfields and chairs, staring in rapt fascination at a large screen TV tuned to a sports channel. Stirling gives Joe's arm a yank as he tries to glimpse the football game being shown. "I just want to see who's playing," he whispers.

On the other side of the sonogram department door, they are greeted by controlled chaos, the waiting area crowded with pregnant women in various stages of roundness, babies and scampering children. A TV in this room is tuned to an educational program and a small circle of toddlers has formed around it.

Stirling looks over her shoulder at the outer waiting area and then to the department's inside area. "What's wrong with this picture?" she asks Joe, who gives her a strange look. She shakes her head in disgust and walks up to the reception area to register.

As she hands the receptionist her NHS card, she turns and watches Joe scan the perimeter of the room, trying to find two seats together. He finally finds a promising spot, asking a hugely round pregnant woman if it would be okay if he moved her large bag to the floor. She agrees and he shifts her items and sits down, looking slightly uncomfortable as he realizes he's the only man in the room. He notices her watching him and gives a little nervous wave, making her laugh. Every woman in the room is staring at him like he's an alien with two heads but he doesn't seem to mind or care. He has eyes only for her.

Once she's registered and receives her NHS card back, Stirling walks over to Joe, unbuttoning her coat and laying it across the back of the chair before sitting next to him. He instantly grabs her hand and holds it in his on his knee. The resulting noise of more than a dozen pregnant women sighing wistfully almost makes her laugh.

"This must be your first," the woman sitting to her left says.

"I'm sorry?" Stirling asks.

"This must be your first baby," the woman repeats.

"Yes, it is."

"You can tell. They always come to the appointments for the first one," the woman says, nodding at Joe. "But after the first, they don't bother coming with you anymore. Or they come but just to watch the football game on the TV outside."

"That's terrible!" Stirling says, feeling horrified.

The woman shrugs. "This is my fourth," she says, pointing at her rounded belly. "My man stopped coming with me after the first appointment for our first, Jimmy over there." She points at a ginger-haired boy playing with some building blocks who looks about four. "My other two are watching the telly," she adds, pointing to two other ginger-haired toddlers, another boy and a girl.

Stirling smiles and nods, turning her head back to lean it against Joe's shoulder. She watches with envy as a steady stream of women walk out of the scanning area and use the public washroom, just inside the waiting room. She continues to squirm in her chair, crossing and uncrossing her legs.

"Are you really uncomfortable?" Joe asks.

"Yes," she hisses. "And I really want to speak with the hospital administration about their strange need to put water elements everywhere," she adds, pointing at a small table-top waterfall gurgling and burbling in the far corner of the waiting room. "Sadists! They're all bloody sadists!"

"So I take it you don't want to hear about one of my calls this morning. Seems one of the seasonal cottages along Delabole Road sprung a water leak. I'm not sure why the water hadn't been shut off for the season but anyway, by the time I arrived, there was a waterfall coming out the front door and down the steps into the front garden. It was a bloody sopping, soggy mess."

Stirling is staring daggers at him by the time he's finished the story. He turns and notices the pregnant woman seated on the other side of him is also giving him a dirty look.

"I'm about to pee my pants and you're telling me stories about water leaks and waterfalls," Stirling says, almost in tears. She stands up. "That's it. I've had enough. This is cruel torture. I'm going to the loo."

Just then, a nurse walks out from the scanning rooms. "Dr. Stirling Aylesworth?"

"Yes?"

The nurse smiles. "It's your turn. Come with me."

Joe jumps up from his seat and follows after her as she walks back into the sonogram department. They're led through a warren of small, dimly lit rooms until they reach the one set aside for them, where she's told to lie down on a cot situated beside the sonogram machine.

"Is this the father?" the nurse asks, turning to look at Joe.

"Yes," Stirling says. "And he stays."

The nurse smiles at Joe and gives him a wink. "Yes, Doctor," she says, pointing Joe to a seat at the end of the cot. "Your technician will be with you in a moment."

"Please tell him or her to hurry," Stirling says desperately. "My bladder is going to explode."

"I'll see what I can do," she says as she leaves, closing the door behind her.

Joe moves his chair so he is closer to Stirling and is able to hold her hand. She smiles at him and closes her eyes, trying to concentrate on anything but the fact she has to pee.

She hears Joe shift off his chair and feels the mattress on the cot push down as he sits on the edge beside her. "Are you okay?" he asks softly.

She opens her eyes and looks up at him, looking down at her. She smiles and touches her hand to his cheek. "Yes, I'll survive," she says. "But a kiss wouldn't hurt."

Joe leans down and kisses her tenderly but it builds into something a bit more passionate just as the door opens. "Now, now, that's enough of that," says an older woman who strides in, startling Joe away from Stirling's lips. "It's that kind of behaviour that resulted in you requiring my services."

Joe quickly moves from the cot back to his chair, shifting back slightly but not so far that he can't still hold Stirling's hand.

"I'm Teresa, your technician," she says, sitting down at the sonogram machine. "You're Stirling – a very interesting name – and you are?"

"Joe," he said.

"Nice to meet you Joe. Now my understanding is someone has a very full bladder and is in a lot of pain so we need to get this procedure going."

"Yes, please," says Stirling, biting her lip.

Teresa switches on the machine and turns toward Stirling, helping her lift up her shirt to just under her breasts and pull down the waist of her trousers to just above her groin area. Grabbing a squeeze bottle, Teresa squirts a dollop of gel onto Stirling's small potbelly, spreading it around with the viewing wand of the sonogram.

"Now, let's find this baby," she says, pressing the wand into Stirling's stomach."Hello, there you are," she says, zeroing in on a spot right above Stirling's bladder. As the wand presses down, her bladder feels like it's screaming for relief.

"Uhh!" grunts Stirling, squeezing her eyes shut.

"What's wrong?" asks Joe.

"I'm pressing pretty hard on a very full bladder," explains Teresa, taking photos with the wand. "It's not a pleasant feeling. I'm working as fast as I can, love."

Stirling squeezes Joe's hand hard.

"You're fairly far along," the technician comments, taking arm and leg measurements. "I'm going to use head diameter and circumference to date the baby because you're further along than 13 weeks. Once I'm finished that, I'll take some pictures of your cervix and then you can take a break and empty your bladder. Just think, it will be a great workout for your Kegel muscles."

She feels Joe shift closer, putting his lips near her ear. "What are Kegel muscles?"

"I'll tell you later," she whispers back.

After about five minutes and several dozen clicks and pings later, the technician says Stirling can finally go pee. Joe helps her up and leads her to the loo where she sits for what feels like hours, peeing. Once she's finished, she returns to her room and the cot.

"Want to see your baby?" Teresa asks with a smile.

Stirling looks at Joe.

"Yes!" they both say.

"I thought so," she says with a laugh, turning the machine so both Stirling and Joe can see the screen. The first photo makes Stirling gasp. It's a close up of their baby's face. It's beautiful. Other photos show the baby's long body plus arms and legs. There's a clear shot of the baby's spine and bum and another beautiful shot of the baby sucking its thumb.

"Do you want to know what you're having?"

Stirling looks at Joe and he looks at her.

"Yes," they both say at the same time, laughing.

"Not all baby's like to work with me but this little goober was very cooperative today. I'm fairly certain it's a boy."

"Of course it's a boy," says Stirling, laughing, thinking of her seemingly never ending bouts of morning sickness. "A girl would never be this big of a pain in the arse."

She looks over at Joe and smiles. His eyes are shining with joy and he looks very chuffed with himself. "A boy," he says, grinning like an idiot. "A boy!"

He leans over and kisses Stirling. "A boy," he whispers to her, fascinated with idea.

Teresa laughs. "I think he's excited."

"We both are," says Stirling, smiling as she touches Joe's cheek. "He just shows his emotions a little more openly."

"Well, congratulations Dr. Aylesworth," says Teresa, standing up from the sonogram machine. "Based on my calculations, you are 14 to 15 weeks pregnant, which makes your due date May 25. I'll write this up in a report and forward it to your office for your patient file. And when you choose an obstetrician or midwife, you can forward the information on to him or her."

"Thank you," says Stirling, still grinning from the news.

"You're free to go now. I'll give you a bit of time to get cleaned up. Just use a few cotton towels to wipe off the gel and put them in the hamper before you leave. And stop by the reception desk before you leave; I'll have some photos you can take home of Junior."

After Teresa leaves, Joe carefully wipes Stirling's stomach, removing the goopy mess. "I can do that," she says, reaching for the towel but he stops her. "I'll do it," he says, carefully wiping the residue from her skin before bending over and kissing her belly.

She smiles as she runs her fingers through his hair. He turns his head and lays it against her belly, sighing with contentment. "A boy," he says. "Sometimes I feel so much love for you and the baby, it actually physically hurts. This is one of those times."

Stirling sits up on the cot, putting her feet over the edge and searching for her boots, which she quickly pulls on. She stands up and wraps her arms around Joe, hugging him close before kissing him passionately. "I love you Sergeant Joe Penhale," she says, kissing his nose. "You are the sweetest, most loving man I've ever met."

He blushes. "Those don't sound like very good qualities for a police sergeant to have."

Stirling laughs. "Don't worry Lover Boy, you have a healthy dose of bad ass too," she says, pinching his bum.

They file back through the warren of hallways, eventually popping out in the waiting area, where Stirling makes another visit to the loo. When she comes out, she's surprised to find Joe surrounded by a large group of women, both staff and pregnant women, all ooohing and aaahhing over the sonogram photos he is proudly showing off. She chokes back a laugh as she watches him and is surprised to feel tears stinging her eyes.

_I'm turning into an emotional basket case_, she thinks, wiping at her eyes.

Joe looks up and catches her eye, his face beaming and shining with pride. He tucks the photos back into their envelope and says goodbye to his new little fan club, striding over to Stirling and giving her a toe-curling kiss that goes on and on, much to the delight of the hormonal women in the waiting room. He scoops her up in his arms, as she laughs, and whispers in her ear: "Let's go home, have a big row over baby names and then make up."

Stirling nods her head enthusiastically.

She is still laughing as Joe carries her out of the sonogram department door into the hall. Most of the men lounging in front of the TV look up in disbelief.

"I don't know what you blokes are doing out here. In there," Joe says, gesturing with his head behind him toward the waiting room door, "is a room full of hormonal pregnant women just looking to go home with a guy. Look at the randy one I scooped up."

Stirling is blushing and laughing as he carries her down the hallway, much to the amusement of several people passing by. As she looks behind them, she notices several men stand up in the waiting area and walk into the sonogram department, probably to check to make sure their wives haven't gone home with some other crazy bloke.

She lays her head on Joe's shoulder. "I love you," she whispers in his ear.

He stops and gently sets her down, keeping his arms wrapped tightly around her. "I love you too," he whispers back, his mouth meeting hers in a kiss that she never wants to end. And it doesn't for quite some time as people walk past them, staring and smiling at the couple, who are oblivious to everything around them but one another.


	14. Chapter 14

Stirling is shivering by the time she makes it down the hill and through the door of The Crab and Lobster. The weather has shifted along the north coast of Cornwall and a chilly wind is blowing off the Celtic Sea. Winter is fast approaching and with it, the madness of the holiday season, the optimism of a New Year, and, ultimately, Stirling and Joe's wedding.

Her mind is still back at the surgery as she shakes the rain off her coat and hangs it on a hook just inside the pub door. Several people smile and greet her as she walks between the tables, eventually sitting down at a booth already occupied by two other women.

"I'm sorry I'm late," she says, settling onto the bench seat across from them. "I had a few last minute instructions to give the team."

Joe, Al and a few other village men are currently up at the surgery working at organizing and packing Stirling's household items in preparation for the big move, expected to occur on the upcoming Saturday, just 10 days before Christmas. She has managed to organize the kitchen into items that stay and items to go, so they have started in that room. She's hopefully not much destruction will occur in her absence.

She looks across the pub table at the two curious faces gazing back at her, bright-eyed and attentive, and takes a deep breath. "I'm glad you agreed to meet with me tonight," she says. "I'm sure you're getting really tired of hearing this but – I need your help."

Louisa and Morwenna look at her with big smiles.

"Well, we're here," says Morwenna. "What do you need?"

"I need a clothing designer," explains Stirling. "Actually, a tailor who understands clothing design, specifically wedding dresses. Know anyone?"

Morwenna claps her hands in excitement and glances over at Louisa.

"As you know, adding to the complexity of the request is I need a quick turnaround time," Stirling adds, taking a gulp from the glass of ice water a server has just set in front of her. "Twenty-one days."

"I think I know just the person," Louisa says with a smile. "He's not right in Portwenn. He lives closer to Delabole. He's a bit of a character, displaying that stereotypical artistic temperament. But I think you already know how to deal with difficult people."

Stirling laughs.

"What's his name?"

"Pablo."

"Pablo? There's a person with the first name Pablo living in Cornwall?"

"Just Pablo, no last name," Louisa adds.

"I like him already," says Stirling with a smile. "Can you give me his contact information?"

Louisa pauses.

"Why don't you leave it with me?" she says. "I'll set up an appointment for you to meet with him and I'll come with you."

Stirling looks at Louisa curiously.

"Pablo and I have an understanding," she explains. "I can help with the introduction, smooth the waters, so to speak."

"Thank you Louisa, I really appreciate it."

Morwenna is vibrating with excitement. "Pablo is amazing," she gushes.

"I hope so," says Stirling, "because I need a miracle worker. I've left this way too long."

"What's the dress like?" Morwenna asks.

"It was my mother's," Stirling explains. "It's actually a very special dress. Her father – my Poppa – bought it from a designer in France. It caused quite the stir in the town my mother grew up in and has become this wedding urban legend story in my family."

"Who was the designer?" Louisa asks.

Stirling thinks for a moment. Fashion has never really meant a lot to her and it's been a few years since she last heard the fairy tale-like story of her mother's wedding dress.

"I think it was de Givenchy?"

There's complete silence from Morwenna and Louisa as they stare at Stirling in amazement.

"What?" she asks nervously.

"Your wedding dress is a de Givenchy?" Louisa asks softly.

"Yes. Is that important?"

"Can we see it?" Morwenna whispers almost reverently.

"Sure," says Stirling. "It's back at the surgery. It's been sealed in a box for the past 45 years so don't expect anything fantastic."

After they pay for their refreshments, Louisa and Mowenna practically drag Stirling through the wet, dark evening up the hill to the surgery. As they walk through the front door, music and mayhem can be heard coming from the kitchen.

"Where is it?" Morwenna demands.

"It's upstairs in the guest bedroom," Stirling says, not really comprehending the excitement. "I thought I'd better move it out of the piano room about a week ago. It had been sitting there since Joe dropped it off earlier in the fall."

The three women climb the stairs – Louisa and Morwenna a bit slower due to their expanding stomachs – and walk into the small bedroom. The gigantic box sits against the wall.

Stirling grabs a pocket knife from her bedside table drawer – "Don't ask," she says to Louisa and Morwenna – and carefully cuts through the tape holding the box closed. It opens like a vertical travel trunk. She brushes aside the miles of tissue paper and finds the dress, still sealed in a plastic sheath, beneath. She carefully unhooks the heavy-duty wooden hanger and pulls the garment gently from its cocoon of tissue.

"It's really heavy!" she grunts as she struggles to hold up the dress.

She glances around the material, looking at Louisa and Morwenna.

"Well, what do you think? Does it look okay?"

Silence.

"Louisa? Morwenna?"

Stirling hauls the heavy gown to the doorway of the guest bedroom. Grunting with the effort, she lifts the hanger above her head and hooks it over the inside of the door. She gently lets go and closes the door.

She walks back to where Morwenna and Louisa stand, open-mouthed. She looks back at the dress and smiles.

"It looks just like the photos," she says.

"Your mother wore that dress at her wedding?" asks Morwenna, mesmerized. "And she lived in a town in Yorkshire? What did her father do?"

"My Poppa? He was a banker," says Stirling.

Morwenna and Louisa look at one another. "That explains everything," says the headmistress.

* * *

Stirling's eyes open wide as Louisa turns the Lexus off Delabole Road onto an overgrown lane.

"He obviously doesn't get many visitors," she says.

"I told you, he's a bit eccentric," says Louisa.

The path winds back and forth a few times before the underbrush falls away and a large manor house appears.

"Wow," says Stirling. "I wasn't expecting that."

"Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again," she quotes from the famous Daphne DuMaurier book. "It seemed to me I stood by the iron gate leading to the drive and for a while I could not enter, for the way was barred to me."

Louisa laughs.

She parks the Lexus near the front walk and they both climb out.

"We'll leave the dress here for now," says Louisa, walking toward the front entrance of the grand house.

Before she has an opportunity to knock, the door is thrown open by a petite man with skin as dark as unadulterated coffee.

"Louisa!" he cries in a beautiful sing-song voice.

He hugs her and kisses both her cheeks.

"I haven't seen you in months. I see married life is still treating you well," he says, looking down at her pregnant belly.

Louisa reaches behind her and pulls Stirling forward. "I have brought a friend to meet you."

The man turns his bright brown eyes toward Stirling, his expression full of curiosity.

"This is Dr. Stirling Aylesworth and she has a very interesting challenge for you."

"A challenge?" the man says, looking Stirling up and down. "Hmmmm."

She obviously meets with his approval because he opens the door wide and welcomes them in.

He leads them into a formal lounge filled with beautiful antique furniture and stunning artwork. Stirling is momentarily mesmerized by the decor, spinning around in a small circle to see everything. "Have a seat," says Pablo.

Stirling eyes the priceless furniture and wonders for a brief moment if she should actually mar one of these chairs with her bum. _Comfort comes first_, she thinks, settling into a comfy-looking arm chair.

"Can I get you some refreshment?"

Five minutes later, drinks properly nestled on coasters to avoid water rings, they sit in a small, informal circle, Pablo waiting patiently.

"What is this challenge you speak of?" he asks.

Louisa gives Stirling a nod.

"I have a vintage wedding dress I'm hoping you can fit and alter for me."

Pablo lets out a loud sigh, his face falling in disappointment. "A wedding dress? Yawn, darling. If I was interested in working on wedding dresses, I would set up a shoppe in town catering to giggling, starry-eyed girls."

He turns to Louisa. "This is not a challenge! I'm disappointed, sweetie!"

Stirling feels a flare of annoyance. "You haven't let me finish," she says, an edge to her voice. "It's a very special dress. It used to be my mother's and it was fitted special to her measurements by a French designer, Hubert de Givenchy."

Stirling watches Pablo's facial expression change from one of bored indifference to something closely resembling that of a small child on Christmas morning. It's a fascinating transformation.

Louisa smiles. "Are you still disappointed in me, Pablo?" she asks mischievously.

He rises from his chair and grasps Louisa's left hand, raising it tenderly to his lips. "I apologize, darling. This is sounding intriguing but I still cannot see where in the challenge lies."

Stirling decides she might as well stick with her regular way of doing things – be direct.

"I'm currently 15 weeks pregnant," she says, noting that Pablo instantly looks down at her belly. "My wedding is set for January 5, three weeks from today. By then, I will be just over 18 weeks along. I really don't want to appear 18 weeks pregnant on my wedding day. That is the challenge and I heard you were a miracle worker."

Pablo is silent for several very long seconds. "Show me the dress," he says suddenly.

Louisa and Stirling both go out to the car to fetch it and as they struggle through the parlour doorway with the heavy garment, Pablo rises and rushes to their aid. He lovingly cradles the dress in his arms and carries it to a large library table situated in front of one of the parlour windows for maximum lighting.

He pulls out the edges of the plastic-encased fabric, laying it as flat as he can. He looks over at Stirling, his eyes shiny with excitement. "Can I remove the covering?" he asks. She nods.

He takes a pair of fabric shears from a nearby drawer and gently cuts the plastic covering along the top. He carefully peels back the protective sheet until the dress is uncovered. He touches the fabric like it's a lover, running his fingers sensuously over the black embroidered pattern.

He looks over at Stirling. She's surprised to see his eyes shimmering with unshed tears, his face glowing like he's just experienced a religious epiphany. "I can't believe I'm actually touching a de Givenchy Sabrina-style wedding dress," he whispers reverently. "Are you sure it's not a copy or a counterfeit?"

Stirling shrugs. "I only know the story I was told. My mother saw the film in the cinema as a young woman and fell in love with the dress. A few years later, she met and fell in love with my father. She was the youngest – the only daughter – and horribly spoiled by her father – my Poppa – who was a banker in York. He was very good friends with one of his clients, who sold fabric to the big design houses in France, including de Givenchy. My mother travelled to Paris to be professionally measured and that dress was made bespoke for her. She wore it on her wedding day, had it cleaned and professionally preserved. This is the first time it's been out of its box in more than 40 years."

Pablo examines the inner seams, the labels, the clasps and closures, the zipper, belt and detachable train. He takes so long, Stirling begins to wonder if they will make it back to Portwenn by dinner. He stands staring at the dress for about five minutes – what feels like the longest five minutes of Stirling's life – and then claps his hands together, making the two women jump.

"Clothes off," he barks at Stirling. "I need to measure you."

She looks around the room. "Here?"

"Of course here," he says, digging a fabric measuring tape out of another drawer. He hands a clipboard and biro to Louisa.

"Hurry, hurry," he says to Stirling, making swooshing gestures with his arms.

She slowly begins to remove her clothing, feeling slightly self conscious as she bares her small baby bump and larger than normal breasts.

Louisa keeps her eyes down on the clipboard, the biro poised to be used.

Tired of waiting for Stirling, Pablo goes to the dress and begins measuring different areas of it, yelling the location and numbers at Louisa to record.

Then he turns to Stirling, examining her body like he would a fish fillet. "Big, yes?" he asks, grabbing the edges of her maternity bra and stretching the fabric back to tighten it more around her breasts.

"Louisa, darling? Are these as gigantic as they are going to get in the next three-four weeks?" he asks.

Louisa hesitates to move.

"Look, darling! Look!"

She slowly looks up at Stirling, who stands feeling foolish in her underwear with her tightened bra pushing her breasts up and out.

_Maybe this wasn't such a good idea_, Stirling thinks.

Louisa examines her chest for a moment and looks down again. "There's some size increase in the beginning and the rest happens toward the end of the pregnancy. They shouldn't get much bigger until eight months."

Pablo nods his head, letting go of Stirling's bra and moving lower.

"Not that big," he mutters, touching her stomach and making her shiver. "Louisa? How much bigger is she going to get here in three or four weeks?"

Louisa looks at her small bump and smiles slightly. "It's going to likely double in size in that amount of time," she says.

"Twice what it is now?" Pablo asks.

"Just the bump part," Louisa clarifies.

He nods, taking his measuring tape and running it over Stirling's body. He continues to shout numbers back to Louisa.

"Now," he says, folding up his tape and shoving it in his pocket, "you try on."

Stirling hesitates. "You want me to try on the dress?"

Pablo nods his head emphatically as he carries the garment over to her. He carefully unzips the back and undoes all of the clasps, eventually holding the dress down for her to step into. He pulls the dress up her body, holding it below her arms as he circles around the back to zip it up and close the top clasp. In the front, he buckles and tightens the thin belt.

He walks in front of her and backs away about 10 feet, tilting his head left and right. "Turn sideways," he orders, which she does. He stares some more.

Louisa stands beside him, smiling widely.

"Okay, I'm done," he says.

Stirling stands there, slightly puzzled. "Can I look?" she asks.

He looks up from where he's examining the measurements Louisa has recorded on the clipboard, distracted. "Yes, yes," he says, pointing vaguely to a full length looking glass in the corner near the front windows.

She slowly walks toward it, familiarizing herself with the feel and weight of the dress, the rhythmic swishing noise it makes with every step. She stops in front of the looking glass and stares. _My breasts look amazing in this dress_, she thinks, impressd by the way the material clings to them while pushing them up and supporting them. The cleavage is sexy but not scandalous.

The dress comes in at her waist and then out again at her hips in a flattering hourglass shape. The train bustles out behind her, enhancing the hourglass appearance even more. She turns sideways. _This could be a problem_, she admits. While the belt enhances her small waist, it also makes the material above her stomach bunch, exaggerating her pot belly. She turns left and right, holding down the material and letting it puff back up.

She turns toward Pablo and realizes he and Louisa have been watching her as she examines her reflection.

"What do you think?" she asks uncertainly.

"You look beautiful," says Louisa, smiling.

"When I am done, you will look even more stunning," says Pablo.

"You'll help me?" Stirling asks hopefully.

"I will love this challenge," he says.

Stirling smiles widely. "Aces!"

Ten minutes later, she and Louisa are on their way back to Portwenn.

"Thank you so much," Stirling says. "I feel so much better now. This dress thing just might work out."

Louisa smiles. "I told you Pablo can be a bit difficult. But he is madly in love with that dress. I have no doubt you will look stunning on January 5."

Stirling blushes, looking out the window.

"Morwenna tells me you and Joe went for your first ultrasound last Monday. How did it go?"

"It was amazing," says Stirling, her eyes shining. "I'll have to show you the photos. It seems real now, not part of some dream or fantasy. I'm actually looking forward to when I can feel it move. I know what the medical books say but when does that actually happen?"

Louisa thinks for a moment. "With your first, it's harder to tell because you're not sure what the movement is supposed to feel like. With James Henry, I think I was about four or five months before I could feel movement inside and six months before I could feel it on the outside. This one, I noticed the movement a lot sooner."

They drive along in companionable silence for a while.

"When are you due?" Louisa asks.

"May 25, which has Joe all excited. It seems Bert has some betting pool going on various aspects of our lives, including the date of birth for our first child."

Louisa laughs. "I'm very familiar with Bert's betting schemes."

"Anyway, Joe has £50 on May 28 and he's convinced he's going to win the pot, which I guess has grown to about £2000."

Louisa looks at her in surprise. "That's a lot of money. Quite a few people must have put down a wager for that pool."

"What about the baby's sex?" she asks.

"I don't know whether Bert has a pool going for that or not."

"No, I mean do you know what you're having?" Louisa asks, laughing.

Stirling blushes with embarrassment. "Yes, but we're not telling. It's a surprise."

Louisa laughs. "And you think Joe is going to be able to keep that secret?"

"On pain of death."

* * *

As Joe lies on the stairs, trapped under the hefty wardrobe, he tries to remember exactly how he ended up in this predicament. The move had been progressing so well – most of Stirling's furniture and belongings had been removed from the surgery and were waiting to be carried into the police station. He and Al decided to deal with the heavy items first and were hauling the wardrobe up the stairs – Al going first, Joe at the bottom – when the piece of furniture slipped and Joe felt himself being pushed down and backwards. Somehow, he managed to stop the wardrobe before it ran him completely over but now he's stuck, head facing down the stairs, his arms and the stair bannister keeping the piece of furniture in place.

Trapped upstairs by the wardrobe, Al is currently yelling for help out one of the bedroom windows.

_Great,_ thinks Joe as he lies there. _Someone yelling for help from the local police station. Isn't it supposed to be the other way around? Aren't people supposed to go to police station for help rather than to provide it? I'm never going to live this down._

Almost as if following a divine signal from the humiliation gods, the front door of Joe's house opens and he looks at an upside down Doc standing in the doorway. "What the hell is going on here?" he asks, staring wide-eyed at Joe.

"Hi Doc," Joe says. "Just having a bit of a problem shifting furniture is all."

Suddenly, the Doc disappears out the door, returning quickly with three burly surfer-types who each grab a corner of the wardrobe and lift it off Joe. Unable to sit up due to the awkward position he is in, the Doc is forced to grab him under the arms and drag him into the kitchen. He lies on the floor for a moment, watching the burly guys carry the wardrobe up the stairs with ease.

"Where to?" one guy asks and Al leads them down the hall to the main bedroom.

"Are you alright, Penhale?" the Doc asks, bending over him. "Did you hit your head? Break any bones?"

"I don't think so," says Joe, slowly sitting up. He feels a bit woozy still but he thinks that may be due to all the blood pooling in his head as he lay upside down.

The Doc helps him to his feet and on to one of the kitchen chairs. "Why are you and Al shifting all this furniture by yourselves? Where's Dr. Aylesworth?"

"You think Stirling would have been able to push that wardrobe up the stairs?" Joe asks incredulously.

"No, but I do think she would have had the good sense to inform you that what you were about to attempt was idiotic and required more than two men to accomplish."

_Actually, that sounds exactly like something Stirling would say to me but without the idiotic part_, thinks Joe.

As he slowly recovers from his mishap, Joe watches in amazement as the three surfer-types bring in the rest of Stirling's furniture and boxes, placing them neatly in the rooms they belong in as Al directs them.

"Thank you so much, fellas," Joe says as the Doc takes his blood pressure for the second time.

"No problem, Sergeant," the tallest one says as his buddies walk out the door. "Just keep this in mind the next time you're thinking about ticketing one of our vehicles."

The Doc rips off the blood pressure cuff with a satisfying tearing noise. "Blood pressure is back to normal," he says, packing up his bag. "Now try not to get yourself into any more trouble today."

As he walks out the front door, he is surprised to see Louisa drive into the station car park with the Lexus.

Stirling gives her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you, Louisa. I really appreciate all your help. Have a good evening."

She jumps out of the car, takes one look at the Doc and his bag before rushing through the house doorway.

"What happened?" she asks, relieved to see Joe at least sitting upright. "Why was the Chief here with his doctor's bag?"

"We had a little bit of a problem getting the wardrobe up the stairs," explains Al. "Joe got a little banged up but the Doc says he'll be as good as new in a few days."

"Oh my god!" says Stirling, about to undo Joe's shirt so she can examine him. He grabs her fingers before she can undo any buttons. "I'm perfectly fine," he says. "And as you can see, we have everything moved into its proper room. Now it just needs to be organized."

Stirling looks around and is amazed to see the furniture and boxes neatly placed in the lounge and kitchen, just waiting for her to organize and place them in their new home.

Al looks at his watch and announces he has to get home to dinner.

"Thanks for your help, mate," Joe says, shaking Al's hand.

"No problem, Joe," he says before walking out the door.

Stirling closes it behind him and turns to find Joe standing and reaching out for her hand. "Come with me," he says, pulling her toward the stairs. "I want to show you something."

She notes he is favouring his back as she follows him up the stairs and down the hall to the main bedroom. She smiles when she sees her bed has been set up in place of Joe's. "My bed!" she says happily, falling backwards on to the comfortable mattress. "Welcome to our new home!"

Joe gingerly lies down next to her and they both stare up at the ceiling.

"How did it turn out with the dress bloke?" he asks.

"Perfect!" Stirling says with a smile, rolling toward him onto her side. "I feel so much better now. I think it's actually going to work. He's a bit different but I like him. Louisa definitely saved the day with Pablo."

"Is it going to be finished in time?"

Stirling nods her head optimistically. Joe's not sure he's convinced.

"So, on a scale of one to 10 with one being 'Not at all' and 10 being 'Oh my god, I think I'm going to die,' how badly does your back hurt?" she asks.

He looks over at her, surprised. "My back doesn't hurt."

She gives him a look of impatience. "Don't play games with the doctor, Sergeant. I bloody well know you're back is in pain. And Al mentioned something about you being banged up by the wardrobe. Undo your shirt and roll onto your stomach so I can take a look."

"Do you think this is a good spot for the bed? Or should we move it in front of the window there? I think it would be better in front of the window because in the morning the light ..."

"Nice try," she says, unamused. "Undo your shirt or I'll do it for you."

"Promise?" he asks with a smile.

Stirling crawls closer to him and starts unbuttoning his shirt. He reaches up and tries to unbutton hers but she slaps his hand away with a laugh. "Distraction will not work, officer."

When she finally gets his shirt open, she gasps in horror. "I don't think you have had that reaction before when you've taken off my shirt," Joe says nervously, trying to look down to see what has upset her.

"Does this hurt?" she asks, pressing across his mid-chest every inch or so.

"Yes," he says flinching, trying to bat her hand away.

"You have a subcutaneous hematoma, about two inches in height, completely bisecting your chest horizontally," Stirling says, emotion in her voice.

"Is that bad?" he asks.

"How did it happen?" she asks, looking over her shoulder at her wardrobe and then back at Joe's chest. "It fell on you, the wardrobe, didn't it?"

Before he can register what's happening, she grabs his left arm and yanks it toward her, effortlessly flipping him over on his stomach. She pulls up the back of his open shirt and is greeted by more contusions, each in a neat line across his back about one foot apart starting just below his neck and going all the way down.

"I think you dislocated my arm," Joe says, his voice muffled by the sheets and blankets on the bed.

"I didn't dislocate your bloody arm,' Stirling says in disgust, standing up. "If I had, you'd be running around the room screaming right now."

She starts walking toward the bedroom door. Joe flips back over on his back and sits up on his elbows. "Where are you going? You practically rip off my shirt, flip me around on the bed and now you're leaving?"

"I'm going to get some ice," she says.

"Sounds kinky."

"Funny," she says, turning around to give Joe an exasperated look. "I'm actually seriously thinking about buying an ice cubing machine so that I always have ready access to ice for the injuries you seem to acquire."

"It would probably also be handy for parties."

Stirling tries very hard not to smile or laugh at his quip but it is very difficult. "I got you!" he says, laughing. "I made you smile! I saw it!"

"I'm glad you think this is hilarious. I, on the other hand, do not. It's quite apparent that as you and Al were hauling the wardrobe up the stairs, it slipped, putting all of its weight on the person at the bottom, which was you. Unable to hold it, you were pushed backwards down the stairs, eventually falling and almost being run over by the piece of furniture. It came to a stop on your mid-chest," she adds, using her own as an example to show where the wardrobe landed, "trapping you underneath it for about 10 to 15 minutes. Eventually it was lifted off you."

Joe looks at her in open-mouthed astonishment. "That's exactly what happened! You're amazing! You're like the Sherlock Holmes of medicine. You could tell all that just by looking at the bruises on my body?"

She looks back at him completely straight-faced as she pulls her mobile from her trouser pocket. "Actually no. When I flipped you on your stomach, I read Morwenna's text, which she sent to me right after weaselling the whole story out of Al."

They stare at one another for several seconds. "You cheeky tart," Joe says menacingly as he climbs off the bed. Stirling's eyes go wide as he advances on her. She sprints down the hall away from him, laughing as he races after her.


	15. Chapter 15

It's the heat that finally wakes Stirling; the sweat inducing, hair dampening heat. As she cracks open her eyes in the dimly lit bedroom, it's the first thing she notices, followed very closely by the actual source of the heat – a clingy, sprawling, very asleep police sergeant.

As she struggles to become fully conscious, Stirling also works to find some way of disentangling herself from the octopus-like grip of Joe, who has managed to fall asleep with most of his body lying on top of her, his arms wrapped around her torso, his head resting on her upper stomach. Moving a little bit at a time, she manages to shift her lower body out from under him without waking him. Grabbing the pillows from his side of the bed, she rolls her body slightly to the left, successfully sliding his head from her belly onto the fluffy cushions. She freezes as he grumbles in his sleep, rolling over to face away from her. As his breathing becomes regular again, Stirling sits on the edge of the bed, stretching and yawning. According to her alarm clock, it's 9:07 a.m.

She loves Sundays; the one day of the week she and Joe can have a lie-in guilt-free. And, after spending several hours in the middle of the night explaining to Shonah Millar that she was actually experiencing a panic attack and not having a myocardial infarction, she believes she deserves a lie-in – and possibly danger pay.

Grabbing her dressing gown from the hook on the side of her wardrobe, Stirling shrugs into the garment, tying the belt tightly. She may have been sweating in bed but it's chilly upstairs, the December wind gusting outside the window. She pauses at the bedroom door and looks back at the room's new layout. Joe's idea of putting the bed in front of the window had been a good one. It makes the room look larger, less cluttered.

After a visit to the loo, she pads quietly downstairs and pulls a large envelope from one of the side pockets of her doctor's bag. The documents from Michael outlining the Doc's terms for selling the surgery arrived on Friday and she hasn't yet had an opportunity to read through them thoroughly. With the envelope under her arm plus a handful of HobNobs and a glass of milk, she climbs back upstairs.

She notes that Joe is still asleep as she tiptoes into the room, setting her cookies and milk on the bedside table before climbing back into bed. She fluffs her pillows and sits up against them before covering her bare legs with the blankets and duvet. As quietly as she can, she pulls the thick sheaf of papers from the envelope and sits back to read.

According to Michael's summary letter, the Doc's asking price and financial terms are "rather generous considering he's such a rude, grumpy git." He goes on to outline three possible purchase scenarios – purchase the surgery with a 15-year payback and the Doc holding the mortgage; purchase the surgery with a 15-year payback and a bank holding the mortgage, or purchase the surgery with a 15-year payback and Michael and Christopher holding the mortgage.

_And, of course, Michael and Christopher's interest rate is the most favourable_, she notes with a smile, shaking her head slightly. _How does that pair ever make any money?_

She continues with Michael's summary, which outlines his advice involving the notional rent income from the Department of Health, possible ways to utilize the residential side of the building to generate income to offset mortgage payments, and property improvements that will be required in the next 10 years, based on the report of a building inspection service.

Stirling is busy looking at the property survey map she has unfolded across her side of the bed when Joe rolls over and opens his eyes. He watches her unobserved for several minutes as her eyes quickly scan the map, her lips moving as she silently talks to herself. He smiles as he watches her, wrapping his arms around his pillow as he gets comfortable. She picks up the report and flips through several pages quickly, her eyes always shifting, her lips always moving.

Eventually she senses him watching her. She stops what she's doing and turns to look at him, smiling at his stubbly, tussle-headed appearance. "Good morning, handsome," she says before taking a bite of cookie.

"Good morning, beautiful. Is that a HobNob?"

She nods, picking one up from the bedside table and holding it up to his mouth. He takes a bite before reaching out to take the cookie from her. He rolls onto his back as he chews.

"What time is it?"

Stirling glances at her alarm clock. "9:47."

Joe yawns and stretches before taking another bite of cookie. He sits up, fluffing his pillows and setting them next to Stirling before leaning his bruised back gingerly against them.

"What time did you get home last night?" he asks.

"You don't remember? We had a rather interesting conversation involving Aston Villa's horrible football season, how they always seem to lose when Ron Vlaar is injured and the team's inconsistent playing when they position three players at the back."

He looks at her uncertainly. "You're joking!"

She turns her head toward him, taking a bite of HobNob. "Would I joke with you about Aston Villa?"

"I don't remember any of it."

She smiles. "It was 2:30 in the morning. I didn't expect you would, although I must admit, your observations were rather astute considering you were talking in your sleep."

She looks down at his chest and frowns. "That has really bruised," she says, reaching out and touching the angry-looking line of purple mottled skin that crosses his upper chest. "Does it hurt?"

"Not much," he says. "My back does though."

Stirling makes him lean forward so she can examine the bruises on his back. She smiles at the pattern that has developed.

"You look like a zebra," she says, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. "But it seems you'll live – this time."

As she returns to her perusal of the property map, he continues to watch her. "What are you doing?" he asks her softly, leaning over to gently kiss her bare shoulder, revealed as her dressing gown shifts.

She smiles, turning toward him as his kisses move lower. "I'm reading Michael's assessment of the Doc's surgery deal," she says, feeling a flare of excitement in her lower stomach.

"Sounds very dull and boring," he mutters as his lips travel upward again, nuzzling against her neck. He reaches out and bites at her ear lobe, making her gasp.

"It's actually very important for our future," she says, humming with pleasure as he shifts to kiss the other side of her neck.

"Do you have to work on important things for our future right now?" he asks, untying the belt of her dressing gown and pushing the garment off her shoulders, down her arms and onto the floor. She shivers in the cold air. "After all, it is Sunday," he adds, covering her lips with his.

"I guess it can wait," she whispers between kisses, feeling her body being slowly pulled forward on top of Joe's. He grabs the blankets and duvet and yanks them over her shivering body, pulling her closer to him. With just a whisper of sound, the pages of Michael's report slip from the bed, scattering across the floor.

* * *

Joe dozes as Stirling snuggles her head on his chest, flipping through the report she has just spent the past five minutes gathering up from the bedroom floor and carefully collating. She's currently reading through Michael's assessment of the surgery's annual operational budget and his opinion of the financial viability of the location.

"You're never going to get rich being a GP in Portwenn, Ling Ling," he writes. "It's a stagnant to low growth area, with an aging population and very little influx of new permanent residents. Of course, as a vacation destination, there is an increase in population during the summer months, meaning potential for increased surgery visits due to routine holiday mishaps. Combined with your full-time patients, this can provide you with a comfortable living, even without your police sergeant's wage."

_Good old Michael, he's such a romantic_, she thinks with a smile, knowing he added that statement in order to assure her she could support herself without financial help from a spouse. _Between him and the Chief, they already have me single again and I'm not even married yet_.

If Christopher and Michael knew about the anticipated baby, she could imagine him adding that information with the expectation of Joe becoming a stay-at-home father. She giggles at the thought of Joe carrying their baby in a sling and taking him to story time at the library or swimming lessons at the recreational centre.

_He'd probably love every minute of it_, she admits to herself.

"I think you're the only person I know who can find humour in a thick pile of papers involving a real estate deal," Joe mutters, his eyes still closed.

"Aubrey has a very interesting way with words," she says.

"I'm sure he has an interesting way with everything he does," he adds, tightening his arms around her. "Which reminds me, when are they coming down from London?"

Stirling flips through the next few pages of the report before answering. "They plan to arrive on Boxing Day and will be here until after the wedding," she says. "Don't worry, all three of them are staying at The Crab and Lobster. It's going to be too crowded here and at the surgery."

"And your sister, Emily, and her family are arriving next Saturday and will be staying at the surgery?" asks Joe.

"Yes, they're all arriving on the train and will be here until after the wedding, except Robert, who has to return to Yorkshire on Boxing Day for work. But he'll be back before the wedding."

Joe yawns, feeling exhausted by all the preparations that still need to be done for both Christmas and the wedding.

"When are Sam and your mum arriving?" Stirling asks, finally setting down Michael's report.

"Christmas Eve day," says Joe, feeling some slight apprehension about his mum staying at the police station. This will mark the first meeting between her and Stirling and his mother isn't the easiest person to deal with. He's expecting fireworks. Hopefully Sam's presence should help diffuse any tension.

"And they're staying here, right?"

"Yes, until after the wedding."

She can hear the tension in his voice. She rolls over to face him, reaching up and tenderly touching his face. "Don't worry. I'll be on my best behavior."

"It's not you I'm worried about you," he says, smoothing back her hair.

"Maybe you should be. Who knows, I might really be some sort of horrifying monster – like a Bride of the Dead – and keep you chained up in the back garden to play with once in a while. Or," she says, sitting up in bed, her voice becoming excited and her gestures more animated, "maybe I am the sacrifice the people of Portwenn need to burn in the Wicker Bride in hopes of a better catch of fish. And the brave police sergeant tries to save me but it's really a trick and he is the true sacrifice."

Joe stares at her in wide-eyed disbelief while she smiles back. Silence. "You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?" she finally asks.

"You're cut off from the HobNobs," he says slowly. "I think you're having some kind of sugar reaction. Or maybe there's something wrong with the milk. Could this be a pregnancy symptom or side effect?"

She laughs, feeling rather silly and embarrassed by the realization her attempt at humour has met with such dismal failure. "You've never seen Shaun of the Dead, have you? Or The Wicker Man, quite possibly the best British horror film ever?"

He shakes his head. "I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about. And, to be honest, sometimes what comes out of your mouth is complete bollocks; even worse then some of the stupid things I say."

Stirling laughs even harder, leaning forward and kissing Joe. She wraps her arms around him and falls forward right on top of him, still laughing.

"I was going to ask you what you wanted for Christmas," she says, kissing him again. "But now I know what to get you – a proper movie library. And maybe I'll get you some books and we can put them on my book shelves and it will be official – we'll actually be a couple living together."

Joe's silent for a moment. "I don't need anything for Christmas. I already have everything I want," he says, giving her a quick squeeze.

"No, I know what I'm getting you," she says stubbornly, lying down and resting her head on his chest.

"Well, if intermixing books is one of the official signs of living together, maybe I should buy you a rifle. You could store it with mine in the locked gun case."

"I already have a rifle," she says, playing with a small patch of his chest hair.

"What?!" he practically shouts, looking at her with an expression of amazement.

"I already have a rifle. It's in Yorkshire. I didn't really have a need for it in London so I kept it at the farm. I guess I should get Robert to bring it with him."

"You already have a rifle? Why?"

Stirling looks up at him. "You happen to be lying naked in bed with a champion marksman," she says smiling. "My nickname at Wycombe Abbey was Sniper; well, among other names that I'd be too embarrassed to repeat."

"Just when I think I know everything there is to know about you, you drop a zinger like that on me," he says. "What other hidden talents do you possess?" he asks with a grin.

"Wouldn't you like to know," she says with a saucy wink, picking up Michael's report again.

Joe stares at the document for a moment. "Well, what does Aubrey suggest you do about the Doc's offer?"

Stirling looks up at him, eyebrows arched with surprise. "He says offer the Chief £10,000 lower than his asking price. If he goes for it, great; if not, counteroffer with £5,000 less. If he doesn't take that, accept the original offer. In other words, it's a very good deal and Michael's trying to save me £10,000 to use toward future repairs and upkeep."

"What are you going to do?"

Stirling sits up and kisses Joe tenderly. "What are WE going to do," she corrects softly. "And we're going to follow Michael's advice, make an offer and see what happens."

"So, this is a shared decision?" he asks.

"Yes," she says, returning to reading the report.

"That's funny because I don't remember being provided an opportunity to share my thoughts on this."

She looks up from the document, her face reddening with embarrassment.

_Shit! He's absolutely right_, she thinks, horrified. Sure, she's talked to him about the offer but she's never actually asked his opinion. _Good one, Stirling!_

"I'm sorry!" she says, sitting up to face him directly. "Did you want to read this?" she asks, offering him Michael's report.

He shakes his head, watching her face closely.

"Okay – uhmmm – what are your thoughts on the idea?" she asks softly, a little afraid of his answer.

"Do you think you'll be able to handle the added responsibilities in your condition?"

She looks at him with amusement.

"I'm pregnant Joe, not dying. And since it's required of me, I'm just going to have to do it."

He shakes his head, looking away with a wry smile.

"What?" she asks.

"Has it ever crossed your mind that you might be taking on too much? You can't do everything."

Stirling feels a stab of annoyance. "I'd be a fool not to take the Chief up on this," she says forcefully. "You do understand that, right? It's the opportunity of a lifetime."

Joe looks somewhat hurt by her words. "What about the baby; the wedding? How many opportunities are you going to have for that in your lifetime?"

She sighs, somewhat frustrated.

"It's not like I'm suddenly not going to have the baby or marry you because of a business deal involving the surgery," she says. "They're two entirely separate things, Joe. One has to do with investing in our future and my career, the other with living my life."

"I'm not sure if you've noticed this or not but our lives are completely intermixed with our careers," he says, gesturing with his arms. "We live here, in this house, because I'm a police officer with the Devon and Cornwall force. The phone could ring at any time and I'd have to leave to deal with an emergency. Or your mobile might ring and you'd have to go and visit a patient. Our careers are part of our lives."

Stirling takes a deep breath, trying to fight back the feeling of panic and tension rising in her stomach. "If I don't show an interest or make an offer, the Chief might decide to put the surgery on the open market. I could end up without a building to work from. Is that what you want to have happen?"

"Of course not," he says gently, reaching out and stroking the side of her face. "That's why I'm going to suggest we go ahead with Michael's advice. But am I not allowed to express my concerns?"

She looks up, slowly smiling, and throws her arms around him in a big hug. "Thank you," she whispers in his ear before shifting her body back to look him in the eyes. "Of course you're allowed to express your concerns."

He smiles and leans toward her. "Then give me an opportunity to voice them next time," he whispers in her ear.

He shifts his head slightly and kisses her, putting his arms around her and pulling her closer to his body. She feels lightheaded and breathless after he moves his lips slowly down her neck to her shoulders. Stirling knows where this activity is leading and she's teetering on the edge of going along with the feelings rising within her when she speaks up. "I have an idea."

"Yes?" Joe says, moving his lips slowly down her chest.

She pulls back slightly. "Let's have lunch at the hotel," she says, pushing her forehead against his. "We can celebrate our first major business decision as a couple. And since we seem to be in such a favourable mood for negotiations, while we're there, we can discuss another decision we need to make."

He pulls back and looks at her curiously. "What's that?"

"Names," she says, smiling.

He laughs, giving her a quick kiss. "You win. Better hurry and get ready," he says, leaping out of bed and racing toward the washroom. She's right behind him but he reaches the shower first. She gives him a pouting look. "Can we share?"

Joe smiles and holds the door open for her to join him. "Thank you," she says, soaping her hands and rubbing them over the back of his neck and gently down his bruised torso. As she reaches his bum, he turns to face her.

"I thought you wanted to go to lunch," he says softly, kissing her.

"I do."

"Then you better stop what you're doing," he says, pushing her back against the shower wall, kissing her harder. He presses his body up against her and runs his arms down the sides of her body. He pauses when he reaches her belly, running his hands several times over it. He backs away from her slightly and looks down.

"You're getting bigger," he says, stroking her rounded stomach. "It's quite noticeable when you're naked."

"Good thing I'm not getting married naked then," she says, laughing.

He looks up at her. "You really don't want everyone to know, do you?"

"Not until after we're married. I know there are some people in Portwenn who know but they've been very discreet about it and I appreciate that. I know it's silly and really doesn't make a lot of sense but I want to keep it a secret until then."

"Why?" Joe asks, baffled.

Stirling looks down at the shower floor and blushes. "It has to do with Emily, my sister. She cannot know until after the service is over."

"I still don't understand why!"

"I'll explain it at lunch," she says. "Hurry up and finish your shower before you use up all the hot water and I'm left with none."

Five minutes later, Joe opens the shower door, giving her a quick kiss as he exits. "Don't take too long," he says smiling. She listens to him toweling himself dry before walking out the washroom door, shutting it behind him.

She quickly finishes in the shower and wraps a towel around herself and her wet hair. Reaching for her toothbrush, wets the bristles and puts a healthy dollop of toothpaste on before putting it in her mouth. As she brushes, she feels a strange tension in her stomach.

_Shit, no!_ Stirling thinks just as she vomits into the sink. Three waves of nausea later, her stomach is empty and she's moved on to retching. She grips the sink edge, her knuckles white from the strain, her face twisted from the painful stomach cramps. As the attack eases off, she sits weakly on the edge of the bathtub, her limbs shaking and her face slick with sweat.

_Damn_, she thinks. _It's been almost two weeks since I was sick. I thought it was over_. She feels tears rising but she fights them back, wiping her face with a towel.

A few minutes later, she's able to stand and quickly towel dries her hair before combing it out. She opens the washroom door just as Joe raises a hand to knock on it. "I thought you had fallen asleep in there," he says laughing. "You better hurry."

Stirling quickly finds some suitable clothes and gets dressed while Joe checks the answering machine and fax in the police station. She's soon clomping down the stairs in her favourite high boots, pulling a thick anorak over an over-sized cotton sweater.

"Everything okay?" she asks as Joe closes the connecting door behind him.

"No emergencies," he says, putting on his own warm jacket.

The wind is brisk and has a chill to it as they step outside, Joe locking the door behind him. He seizes Stirling's hand as they walk toward the hotel just up the hill from the police station. By the time they walk through the front door, she's freezing and she can just imagine what her hair must look like.

"I have to fix my hair," she says, rushing toward the ladies' loo. She laughs at her appearance in the mirror and works to bring her hair under control. As she's primping, a strange smell wafts through the room, reminiscent of dead fish. She promptly retches in the sink repeatedly.

Once she catches her breath again, she looks at her sweaty reflection in the mirror. "This can't be happening again," she says to herself. She has a pretty good idea what she's experiencing but she doesn't want to accept it.

_Please let it be something else. Please let it be something else_, she chants in her head as she washes her face with a wet hand towel.

Joe is still waiting for her when she exits the loo. They walk together to the hotel restaurant entrance and are quickly seated by the fireplace in the dining room, much to Stirling's delight.

"I am so cold," she says, shivering in her chair.

Joe looks up at her with concern. "Are you alright? You look kind of pasty."

"I think I just became chilled from the wind during the walk here. I'll be fine."

She orders a hot chocolate in hopes it will warm her. As she sips the sweet drink, she can feel the heat settling in her stomach. She sighs with contentment.

After she and Joe order their lunches, they get serious about the name discussion. "You go first," she says.

He thinks for a moment. "I think we should name him after my Gramps."

"Okay. What was his name?"

"Joseph."

She laughs. "But that's your name."

"Yes," he says, puzzled.

"So, really we'd be naming him after you, not your Gramps."

"No, we'd be naming him after my Gramps."

"But everyone would think we were naming him after you," she insists. "And I think two people in the same household with the same name is confusing. Take it from someone who has a name ending with 'the Third.' I never knew if my mum was yelling for me or my dad."

"I see your point. How about Finnegan?"

"Finnegan Penhale? Finnie Penhale? Fin Penhale? Where did that come from?"

"That was the name of my dog when I was growing up."

"We are not naming our son after a dog," Stirling says, struggling not to laugh. "You don't hear me suggesting Buccephalus. Or Stanley."

"You had a dog named Stanley?" Joe asks with a hint of surprise in his voice.

"When I learned to play the saxophone, I went through a jazz stage. I named my spaniel after Stan Getz. He was a tenor saxophonist who made bossa nova popular. You know, The Girl From Ipanema? I also had a German Shepherd named Rommel."

Joe just stares at her.

Stirling sighs. "Erwin Rommel, the Desert Fox, highly decorated German soldier in World War One plus famous field marshal and tank commander during World War Two. Led the 7th Panzer Division in France and the Afrika Korps in North Africa. Wrote a highly regarded book on desert warfare. Suspected of being part of the failed plot to kill Hitler. Was forced to commit suicide with a cyanide pill. None of this is ringing a bell for you?"

"We're not naming our son after a German tank commander."

Stirling laughs. "I never said I wanted to! I was just explaining why I named my German Shepherd Rommel. You know, he was a great dog."

Joe reaches his hand across the table to hold hers. "I know you really miss Buccephalus. I miss him too. But you're four months pregnant, less than a month away from getting married, and about to make an offer on buying the surgery. I think you have enough on your plate without adding a dog to the mix."

Stirling can feel hysterical laughter rising in her throat but she swallows it down. "I don't want a dog at the moment, Joe," she says quietly, patting his hand. She takes a deep breath, desperate to move the conversation back on track. "Any other name ideas?"

Besides Edward, his middle name, Joe is tapped out.

"I have some suggestions," she says. "I do like the name Joseph but not as a first name. Why not as a second name? And we could use my middle name as a first name – Mason Joseph Aylesworth Penhale. Or we could use your middle name – Edward Joseph Aylesworth Penhale."

She looks over the table at him and smiles as their lunches are delivered.

"What do you think?" she asks after the waitress leaves.

"I was just thinking that it looks pretty good," he says, staring down at his full plate.

"No, about the name ideas."

He takes a bite of his roast beef and thinks as he chews. "Why is your last name in there?"

Stirling gives him a sharp look. "Why is your last name in there?"

"Because I'm his father."

"And I'm his mother."

Joe looks lost. "But your last name is going to be Penhale too."

She stops chewing and stares at him. "Says who?"

"It isn't?"

"My last name is Aylesworth."

"But we're getting married."

"And I spent more than 10 years of my life obtaining an education and building a name for myself with the last name Aylesworth. Why would I nullify that by changing it?"

"Because you will be my wife."

"And you'll be my husband. Perhaps you should change your last name."

"But that's not the way it works."

Stirling tries very hard not to lose her temper. "I can't believe we haven't had this conversation yet. I blame myself. I just took it for granted that you would know I'm not changing my name."

"But why not?"

"I'm not chattel to be traded," she says sharply. "I don't want to appear like I'm 'owned' by my spouse because my last name matches his!"

"But it's traditional. And it has nothing to do with cattle!"

"I said chattel, not – oh, never mind! In the time that you've known me, Joe, have I struck you as an overly traditional person? We're living in the 21st Century. Men can marry women, women can marry men, men can marry other men, women can marry other women, I'm pretty sure people will soon be able to marry their pets. And women don't have to change their last names to that of their husbands'. It's an archaic custom that's time has passed."

"I actually feel a bit hurt by this," he says quietly. "You don't want to have the same last name as me."

Stirling feels a twinge of guilt as Joe picks at his roast beef, looking very much like a little boy who has just found out Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny aren't real.

She takes a deep, calming breath. "Besides it being the way things are traditionally done, why is it so important to you that I change my last name?" she asks him.

"Because it shows how much you love me," he says.

"I can only show I love you by giving up my last name? The fact I'm living with you, marrying you and carrying your child, these things don't also show that I love you?

"Yeah, they do."

"Then give me another reason for changing my last name."

"It shows we're partners," he says.

"But doesn't the fact we've exchanged vows and wedding rings, live together in the same house, sleep together in the same bed, support one another, love one another, have and raise children together, don't these also show that we're partners?"

"Well, yeah."

"Isn't that enough?"

He looks at her and thinks about what she's just said. He's never really thought about it from the wife's point of view. When he married Maggie, it wasn't discussed, she changed her name. And when they divorced, she went back to her maiden name. He's quiet for several minutes as he eats his lunch, thinking.

Stirling's a bit nervous, glancing at him intermittently as she eats her shepherd's pie. She didn't mean to come on so strong but she also wasn't expecting there to be a problem. _If it means so much to him, maybe we can reach a compromise_, she thinks.

She's about to say something when he speaks up. "I like the first one," he says. "Mason Joseph Aylesworth Penhale. I think we should name him that. It has a nice ring to it."

She looks at him in shock for a moment and then smiles. He finds it impossible not to smile back at her. "The next boy we're going to call Edward Stirling Aylesworth Penhale," he says.

"Really? The next boy," she says, looking impressed. "This one hasn't even arrived and you're already planning for a second."

"Actually, a third," he says. "The second baby is going to be a girl."

Stirling chokes on her water. She looks up at him, wiping her eyes with her cloth napkin. "You've got this all planned out, I see. Do I have any say?"

"No," he says smugly. "I do remember enough about biology to recall it's the male who determines what sex the baby is going to be."

Stirling laughs loudly, reaching out with her foot to rub up and down the inside of Joe's leg under the table. "I love you," she says smiling. "Thank you."

He smiles back at her. "Now I want you to explain to me why your sister Emily can't know about the baby until after we're married."


	16. Chapter 16

Stirling stops smiling. "What?"

"I want you to explain to me why your sister can't know about the baby until after we're married," Joe asks again, patiently.

She turns away and looks out the window, toward the sea and the surf. For a brief moment, she wishes she could travel there; float out the window and through the glass – like some sort of diaphanous creature – sail over the cliff edge, dive under the waves and sink to the silence of the sea floor; to the deeps. Hiding, escaping seems so much easier than explaining and describing the complicated soul that is Emily.

Stirling returns mentally to the room and turns back to look at Joe, who waits quietly, watching her. "I've told you about Emily; how she ended up married at 20, saddled with the responsibility of caring for her little sister not long after that, and became the mother of two little babies by 22. I've also told you how different our personalities are. We've never been close; Robert was more a parent to me than she ever was, which actually makes sense. She's my sister and never should have been forced to take on the role of guardian."

"My mother was very critical of Emily after she found out about her and Robert and the baby. I think she had big dreams for her eldest daughter, who was beautiful, vivacious and talented. And Emily had big dreams for herself – she was going to be an actress, a dancer, a singer, a star. And, of course, that never happened. So, mum ended up being angry and bitter toward Em and Emily became angry and bitter toward herself."

"My dad, he was a bit more understanding," she recalls with a smile. "He used to say 'Stirling, life is messy. You have to learn to enjoy the muddy parts along with the beautiful ones.' And Em hated getting dirty. I think that's how she started to see herself, dirty and damaged, forced by her parents and social expectations to marry a man 10 years her senior and live in a place she spent most of her life dreaming she would some day escape."

"When our parents died, she was handed the perfect vehicle in which to redeem herself – me. She decided she would make sure I never had the opportunity to make the same mistakes she did. So, at the age of 12, five days after I experienced my first menstrual cycle, I was taken to a doctor in York and given my first birth control injection."

Joe frowns, looking slightly puzzled. "I don't understand. You were 12?"

"Yes."

"And she thought you were going to get pregnant?"

"No."

"Then why do it?"

"That's what the village doctor asked her. She had no answer so he refused to do the procedure. He also told her it wasn't advisable to use that particular form of birth control on females younger than 18. That's why she had to take me to an OB-GYN in York. And every 12 weeks, we went back and I received another shot, up until the day I left for Wycombe Abbey and never looked back."

"She tried to have the injections continued but I fought it. I had distance on my side plus a suspicious school doctor who listened to me. But she found other ways to control and manipulate me. She threatened to sell the Triumph, give away my dog I left behind. When I was 13, she made me swear on my mother's grave that I would never get pregnant until I was married. I stopped going home for holidays after that."

Joe looks horrified. "I'm not sure if I want her at our wedding," he says in a serious voice. "She sounds like a monster."

"She was sick, Joe," Stirling says. "She wasn't herself. She had a deep-seated phobia that, through transference, she applied to me. Eventually, she had a nervous breakdown and, thankfully, received the help she needed. We've made peace with that part of our relationship long ago. But she still has issues about me following in her footsteps. And I'm doing just that."

"No, you're not."

"I'm going to be 18 weeks pregnant marrying a police sergeant more than 10 years my senior who happens to be based in a small rural village," she says. "You don't see the similarities? There's even a bloody moor nearby!"

"But it's different. You're not 20; you're 34. You're pregnant by choice, not by accident. No one is forcing you to marry me. You went away to school, received an education. You're a doctor, for goodness sake! It's not the same at all!" He pauses for a moment. "Am I really that much older than you?"

"I understand what you're saying," she says. "I agree with you. But I'd rather we were married before we drop the bomb on her. Even then, it's not going to be pleasant. She's going to feel like a failure. It's going to dredge up all that crap from the past. And I'm going to feel guilty about something that I'm actually quite happy about. And yes, you are that much older than me."

"Maybe she just shouldn't come," Joe says stubbornly.

"That's not fair!" Stirling says with a slight laugh. "From what you've told me, you're mum isn't exactly the most heart warming individual in the world. She's still invited the wedding. If you want her there, I wouldn't tell you that she couldn't come, no matter how nasty she is."

He grumbles but concedes. "You're right. I'm sorry for suggesting it."

"It's okay. You have every reason to be concerned. Unfortunately, we can't pick our families."

They're both silent for a moment, thinking.

"I picked you," Joe says, smiling across the table at her. "You and Mason are the beginning of my family; our family."

Stirling feels tears stinging her eyes plus a strange pressure building, deep in her groin. _It feels almost like – lust_, she thinks, a tingly thrill shooting up her chest.

"That was an incredibly sweet thing to say," she says, reaching across and touching his hand. She lifts it gently, bringing it up to her lips. She tenderly kisses and sucks on each of his knuckles as he watches her, his hand trembling slightly.

"I think we need the bill here," he chokes out, looking around wildly for their server.

She smiles coyly at Joe. "In a hurry? I was thinking about dessert."

Joe stops breathing as she sucks on one of his fingers and then another. _What the bloody hell?_ he thinks, looking wide-eyed at her. "What's gotten into you?"

"It's more like what hasn't," she whispers across the table to him, licking her lips as she gives him a wink.

"Time to go," he says loudly, standing up so swiftly, his chair falls over backward.

Their server rushes over, confused. "Is there something wrong?" she asks.

"No, no, everything's fine here," he says, picking up his chair and sliding it back under the table. "I just need a thrill, I mean a bill."

He walks swiftly over to pay the cashier while Stirling stands up, slowly putting her arms into her heavy anorak. It's strange – one minute she's feeling weepy over something sweet Joe says; the next, she wants to crawl under the table, pull him down with her and have her way with him. Just the thought excites her to the point she's breathing heavy.

She walks over to Joe, who is scrambling through his wallet. "You don't happen to have a tenner, do you?" he asks her.

She leans toward him with a smile and whispers in his ear. "Not yet, lover boy. But I think I will soon."

He stares at her open-mouthed as she puts her arms around him and starts passionately snogging him in front of the cashier and a half-filled dining room. Someone starts giggling.

"Oh my god!" he says breathlessly as she moves away from his lips and kisses down his neck. He gives an embarrassed smile to the openly staring cashier and grabs Stirling's wallet out of her anorak pocket. She doesn't even notice what he's doing as she nibbles on his neck. He opens it and pulls out two fivers, adding it to the rest of the money on the counter.

"Hopefully that's enough," he says, closing his eyes for a moment as Stirling sucks on his ear lobe. He gives a little shiver and hands the cashier another fiver. "She's normally not like this," he says, putting the wallet back in her pocket.

"Too bad for you," the man says, trying hard not to laugh. "Enjoy it while you can, mate."

Somehow he manages to disentangle himself from Stirling's arms and lips and drags her out of the restaurant and the front door of the hotel. Half way down the hill, she reaches out and grabs his bum, causing Joe to startle and almost stumble.

He stops and turns to look at her. "Are you drunk?" he asks, looking at her pupils. "I thought you were drinking ice water but you're acting a lot like you're pissed."

She wraps her arms around his waist and reaches for his bum again. "I'm not pissed. I'm just suddenly really, really, really randy."

He stares at her for several seconds and grabs one of her hands. "I need to get you home," he says, pulling her behind him down the hill to the police station. He drops his keys twice trying to unlock the front door. The fact that Stirling is working on leaving a love bite on his neck isn't helping his coordination. He finally manages to open the door and pull her in, slamming and locking it behind them.

He turns to face her and suddenly finds himself propelled backwards until he's lying on his back on the kitchen table.

"Crikey!" he moans as she climbs on top of him, throwing off her anorak and pulling off her top. "Don't you think you'd be more comfortable upstairs?" he asks shakily as she undoes the top two buttons of his shirt, pulling it from his trousers as she runs her hands against his bare skin underneath. Soon it and his jacket are joining her blouse and anorak on the floor.

"I've heard about this," says Joe as Stirling kisses and bites her way down his chest.

"I would hope so," she mumbles as her fingers work to undo his belt and trousers. "If not, I'm not quite sure what you think we've been doing for the past few months."

She successfully has his trousers undone and is working at getting them off.

"No, no," he says, which causes her to stop what she's doing.

"No? You want me to stop?"

"No!" he says emphatically. "Don't stop!"

"Good!" she says with a smile, managing to yank his trousers down and off. His socks soon follow leaving him in just his boxers. She sets to work removing her own trousers while kissing and caressing his chest.

"What I was trying to say was I've heard of this happening to other blokes when their girlfriends or wives are pregnant. The women get all … randy … and … and …" Joe's having a bit of a problem concentrating on what he's saying as Stirling's mouth moves up his chest to his lips, her hands and body doing naughty things as she straddles him again.

"Damn," he says, struggling to sit up, grasping her to his chest. "This table is bloody well killing my back."

He picks her up and carries her into the lounge, collapsing down on the chesterfield. She never pauses from kissing and caressing him during the trip. She shifts her weight and suddenly, Joe's on his back looking at the ceiling, and Stirling is on top, whispering in his ear: "I'm going to find that tenner now."

_I could easily get used to this_, he thinks.

* * *

Stirling heaves a sigh of relief as the last patient walks out the door of the surgery Friday afternoon. She glances at her watch. She's not sure how she has accomplished it but she's managed to finish her appointments 30 minutes early.

_I have lots of time to get to Pablo's_, she thinks as she gathers up her doctor's bag. She sent Morwenna home at four o'clock as a special Friday treat so it's peaceful and quiet as she does her round of the building, making sure the front door is locked, the autoclave has cooled and the lights are off. She exits through the back door, pulling it shut behind her, checking to make sure it's locked.

She hums to herself, swinging her bag to the beat of her footsteps, as she starts walking down the hill toward home.

It's been a busy week as the first colds and illnesses of the winter season descend on the village. At times over the past few days, the waiting room has sounded like an allergy convention with sneezing, sniffling, coughing and nose blowing. Of course, Morwenna caught the latest bug and has been miserable all week, unable to take any medication to relieve her congested nose. Stirling took pity on her and provided her with some saline nasal drops, which helped a bit.

She has also sent her offer for the surgery in to the Doc's solicitor. She hasn't received a response yet but it has been only a few days. Even so, she's nervous.

Stirling's been anxious and nervous about a lot of things this week – the real estate offer, the upcoming arrival of her and Joe's families, the dress alterations, her search for an OB-GYN, and the return of her intermittent vomiting and retching. Every day, she has struggled to keep her meals down, sometimes succeeding, other times losing every meal. After six days, she is feeling drained, tired and very, very hungry. Just that morning, Joe had commented that her face looked thinner and there were dark circles under her eyes. She knows she won't be able to keep it from him much longer. Thus her search for an OB-GYN ready to take her on as a patient. Most are booked weeks and even months in advance. She could easily go to the nearest accident and emergency centre and receive assistance but she's hesitant to, not really thinking it an emergency. Instead, she's treating herself, drinking lots of water, taking rehydration salts and eating several small meals each day. It hasn't always been working.

_I'll have to go visit the Chief_, she thinks as she walks past the harbour and up the hill. She's reluctant to even do that considering his reaction to her initial announcement, already dreading his told-you-so attitude.

As she reaches the top of the hill, she stops to look down at the police station and the small beach across the road. She smiles as she sees the Land Rover parked out front.

_Joe is home._

She feels a thrill in her chest as she picks up the pace, glancing at her watch. _Still almost an hour before I need to be at Pablo's for the fitting_, she thinks as she enters through the station's main door into the reception and waiting area. She looks through the communication window into the office but doesn't see Joe. She frowns, moving toward the opening between the two rooms until she's close enough to look over the side to the desk below. Joe leans forward in his office chair, face down, his forehead resting on the top of the desk, asleep.

She chokes back a laugh, afraid of waking him. She checks her watch again and moves to the door, quietly turning the lock, switching on the outside light and flipping over the after-hours information sign.

She quietly walks down the hall, tiptoeing past the office doorway, and carefully opens the connecting door between the station and their home. She leaves it open as she puts down her doctor's bag, kicks off her boots and hangs up her anorak. Her stomach growling, she opens the refrigerator, surveying its contents. Her stomach rolls as she catches sight of the wrapped fish sitting on the second shelf. The smell isn't too far behind.

She slams the refrigerator door, moving quickly to the kitchen sink to brace herself, breathing through her mouth to avoid the smell. But it's too late. She feels the bile rising in her throat and spends the next minute emptying her stomach of every nutrient and drop of water it once contained.

When the stomach cramping abates, she turns on the tap to clean the sink and fill a glass to rinse out her mouth. She's swishing and spitting for the third time when she hears a sound behind her. Alarmed, she spins around and discovers Joe leaning in the doorway, a dark red mark on his forehead from where it rested against the desk.

"I thought that had stopped," he says quietly, eying her suspiciously. "You told me you weren't being sick anymore."

She points at the refrigerator. "It was the fish," she croaks, her throat still feeling raw.

He nods his head, not really looking convinced.

She takes several sips from the glass and enjoys the soothing feel of the cold water as it slides down her throat. "I have to go upstairs and clean myself up, get changed," she says, moving toward the stairs. "I have to be at Pablo's in 30 minutes for a dress fitting."

She's halfway up the stairs when Joe's voice stops her. "Stirling, you'd tell me if there was something wrong, wouldn't you?"

She slowly turns toward him, gathering her inner reserves. "Of course I would," she says, looking him in the eyes. "Everything's fine."

She continues up the stairs, walks down the hall and into the loo.

Joe watches her, still skeptical. "She really is a terrible liar," he mutters to himself.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, Stirling stands in Pablo's front room, staring at herself in the full-size looking glass. She doesn't really believe what she's seeing. The man has performed magic on her mother's wedding dress.

"Well darling, what do you think?" he asks, fluffing out the train and its black ruffled underskirt behind her.

"It's beautiful," she says, smiling.

The transformation is amazing. By making only a few small changes to the attachment points of the removable train, Pablo has managed to artfully disguise her baby bump. He's also sewn a stretchable material into the lining of the dress to add support to the bust line and help contain her burgeoning stomach, but not too tightly.

He's also made a simple veil, not too long, that easily attaches to her head with hair combs. The white, see-through material is dotted randomly with black embroidered patterns, rather similar to the skirt of the dress. As she looks at the effect, Stirling finds it hard to believe the veil wasn't an original component of the dress.

As he looks at her in the mirror, Pablo pats both her arms.

"These," he says, pointing to the long scars on the inside of each one. "What are we going to do about these?"

"I was thinking long, white fingerless gloves."

He nods slowly before quickly walking to an old bureau and opening the bottom drawer. He digs for a while and pulls out a pair of white gloves.

"Try these," he says, handing them to her. "If they work, I'll remove the fingers, make them look pretty."

She slowly puts them on, adjusting the fit on her fingers before pulling the gloves up to just above her elbows. They camouflage the scars perfectly.

"No one will notice this," Pablo says, referring to the faint scar on her upper left shoulder. "They'll be too busy looking at the dress. And the bride."

Stirling smiles. "You've done an amazing job, Pablo."

He looks down at the skirt edge. "How high are your heels?"

"I'm going to wear flats," she says. "I want to be able to actually dance at my wedding without removing my shoes first."

He examines the skirt length with a critical eye. "I should hem it up about half an inch," he mutters, kneeling down at her feet and fussing with the front skirt edge and under ruffle. "You don't want to trip."

He makes her stand on a small raised dais as he carefully pins up half an inch of hem all the way around the dress' voluminous skirt plus the black under ruffle. "We won't worry about the train because it is behind you anyway. Hard to trip on that."

Thirty minutes later, Stirling is back into her normal clothing and the dress has been put away until Pablo can work on it again.

"It will be ready in time, no worries," he assures her. "You can pick it up a week before the wedding, December 29. It will be waiting for you."

She smiles and kisses him on the cheek. "Thank you."

"Thank you, darling, for bringing in that beauty. I can die now knowing I touched a de Givenchy."

"Not before my wedding," she says with mock severity. "You have to come and see me walk down the aisle in your masterpiece."

Pablo leans over and kisses her hand. "It would be an honour, darling."

* * *

It's well after dark by the time Stirling parks the Triumph in front of the police station. She climbs off stiffly, shivering from the cold breeze blowing inland from the water. Pulling up her goggles and unbuckling her helmet, she walks into the house, hanging her headgear by its strap on a peg inside the door. She uses the boot jack to pull off her biker boots, setting them neatly against the wall in the front vestibule. She hangs her leather jacket on the back of a kitchen chair before she wanders into the lounge where Joe is lying on the chesterfield, watching football.

"It's freezing out there," she says, shivering. "Please warm me up."

She lies down next to him and he pulls her close to his body, rubbing her arms with his hands.

"You are cold!" he says, grabbing a blanket from the back of the chesterfield and throwing it over them. Stirling nestles her head under Joe's chin and snuggles against him. Five minutes later, she's asleep.


	17. Chapter 17

Stirling stands on the train station platform, dancing from one foot to the other. The train is late.

Her stomach feels queasy but she's not sure if it's from nerves or the nausea she's experiencing.

Joe leans against the station wall nearby and watches her fidget and bounce. Her anxiety is evident in every movement she makes.

"Calm down," he says softly as she wrings her hands impatiently. "You're making me nervous. I should be the one fidgeting. This is the big family reveal."

Stirling walks over to him and gives him a light push on his left shoulder.

"You have nothing to worry about. They're going to love you," she says.

She wraps her arms around him and kisses him, deep and long. He feels the passion building in him as she sucks on his bottom lip and gives him a playful nip. But he pulls back.

"We can't snog like that here," he says breathlessly, looking around at the other people waiting on the platform. "I'm wearing my uniform. No fooling around in public while in uniform. It's an important rule."

"I can help you take it off in the Land Rover if you like," she whispers in his ear, gently nibbling his lobe while running her right hand up the inside of his thigh.

"Crikey, Stirling!" Joe says, dancing away from her touch and pulling at the front of his uniform pants. He looks around again, convinced everyone on the platform can see what state his randy fiance has put him in.

In the past week, Stirling has become insatiable. She's always been a passionate partner – seemingly always ready, willing and able – and Joe is accustomed to regular sessions of love making. But now, it is amazing. And exhausting. Early morning, late at night, during his midday refreshment break, when she comes home from the surgery – she is on him, poking, prodding, rubbing, kissing, teasing, and pulling. It is incredible.

He is enjoying it while he can, realizing that as she becomes larger with the baby, sex might become more difficult or not as appealing to her. But still, he is beginning to feel the effects. Some afternoons, he falls asleep at his desk or in the Land Rover on a back road, exhausted. He's almost been caught sleeping on the job a few times. It makes him nervous the narcolepsy is returning; even with his regular Ritalin dose, he is falling asleep.

Now, Stirling smiles at him and puts her arms up in mock surrender.

"I just thought we could have a little fun while we waited," she says.

"Maybe later," he whispers, kissing her on the forehead. "In public, we have to behave, especially when I'm wearing this uniform."

They lean against the wall beside one another, his arm around her, her head resting against his shoulder.

"This train is really late," Stirling says, fighting back a yawn.

It's another change Joe has noticed since the pregnancy began; she's a lot more tired.

_Probably from all the rumpy pumpy_, he thinks with a smile.

But it's more than that. When Stirling falls asleep, she is almost impossible to wake. She is so deeply asleep. But even with the rest, she still has dark circles under her eyes.

Joe hears a sound in the distance.

"Here it comes," he says, moving away from the wall with her, their arms still around one another.

They stand on the platform and watch the London train slowly come in, eventually stopping with a squeal and a lurch.

Stirling looks up and down the length of the train expectantly, looking for a familiar face. She hugs Joe close with excitement. And then she sees her stepping down from the second last train car. He's right behind her and the kids behind him.

"Emily! Rob!" she shouts, jumping up and down and hugging Joe in excitement.

He laughs and holds her still, giving her a quick kiss.

"Go down and greet them," he says. "I'll be right behind you."

She kisses him on the nose and trots as fast as she can down the train platform.

"Emily! Rob!" she shouts again.

They see her.

Emily gives a scream and covers her mouth with emotion. And then her arms are wrapped around her little sister.

"Stirling! Stirling! Stirling!" she sobs, rocking her back and forth in her arms.

It's been a few years since the two sisters have been together, the last time being just before Stirling was released from the rehabilitation clinic after her bout of MERS. Emily has aged since then, Stirling realizes, noting the lines around her eyes and mouth. Her light brown hair is now heavily streaked with grey, particularly around the temples. Her brown eyes look tired. She is also starting to get heavier in the bum and upper thigh area, very similar to their mother.

Emily pushes Stirling away from her and looks her up and down.

"I'm not sure if Cornwall agrees with you," she says through her tears. "You look so pale and tired. Your face is thinner but it looks like you've gained some weight."

Stirling doesn't want to go there at the moment, knowing Emily's reaction will not be pleasant. She looks over her sister's shoulder at Rob and smiles. She's in his arms in an instant and he lifts her off the ground, spinning her once.

Rob still looks the same, except maybe a bit older and with more grey in his black hair. He's still tall and strong with a wide smile and dancing blue eyes.

"You have gained weight," he says, laughing. "It must be all those pasties."

Her niece and nephew stand behind their father, grinning. They have both grown and changed so much since she last saw them. She doesn't even recognize them.

"You guys have grown so much!" Stirling says, wiping her eyes. She hugs them both together. "I remember when you were just little sprogs. Now, you're young adults."

She turns to look down the platform and Joe is standing there, just outside the little family group, hands in his pockets, waiting patiently.

"Joe," Stirling says excitedly, bouncing over to him and grabbing his arm. "Emily, Rob, this is Joe. Joe, this is my sister, Emily, and her husband, Rob. And these two giants are my niece, Roberta, and my nephew, Richard."

Joe shakes hands with Emily and Rob and gives the two kids a wave.

"Welcome to Cornwall," he says. "Do you have all your bags?"

Emily and Rob stare at him for a moment. And then Emily has her arms around him, hugging him close.

"It's so wonderful to finally meet you," she says. "The letter you sent us was so beautiful. And thank you for taking such wonderful care of Stirling."

Robert soon has him in a tight squeeze, backing away quickly and slapping him on the back.

"A pleasure meeting you, Sergeant," he says, shaking Joe's hand again. "Congratulations on the promotion."

"Thank you, sir."

"We're going to be family, Joe. You can call me Rob."

"Thank you, Rob. Well, let's gather everything up and get on our way to Portwenn."

"We're not there yet?" asks Emily, confused.

"No, Em," explains Stirling. "This is just the end of the train line. Portwenn is still another 30 minutes away."

Joe gathers up a few bags and Rob, Roberta and Richard grab the rest. Stirling leads them to the Land Rover and opens the back.

"We're not all going to fit in this vehicle," says Emily, concerned.

"I thought the luggage and the kids could go in the back," Stirling said, "just like prisoners! And Em, you can sit in the front with Joe."

Stirling turns to Rob and grins.

"Rob and I can take the Triumph."

Joe smiles as he watches Rob's eyes light up in excitement. Stirling leads him around to the other side of the Land Rover, where the Triumph sits.

"It's beautiful, Stirling!" he says, amazed. "You've taken fantastic care of it. How does it run?"

"It purrs like a kitten," she says.

Joe and the two kids load the bags into the back of the vehicle while Emily settles in the front passenger seat. Once the bags are stowed, the kids jump in and sit across from one another on the bench seat. Joe slams the door and walks around to the driver's side.

"See you in Portwenn," he says, giving Stirling a quick kiss. "Have fun, Rob."

As Joe drives away with his full load, Rob pulls on the leather jacket sitting on the seat.

"This is your dad's old jacket," he says, looking up at Stirling.

"I know. It's Joe's now but he said you could borrow it."

She pulls on the heavy black leather jacket she likes to wear in the winter and puts on her helmet.

"Get on," she says to Rob, who has just buckled his helmet and put down his goggles. "You're driving."

"I am?" he asks, grinning.

"Don't worry, I'll tell you where to go."

Soon the pair is rocketing down the road, the wind whistling over their helmets, their goggles pushed into their faces by the pressure. Rob laughs with pure joy.

About 45 minutes later, following a couple of quick detours and off road experiences, Rob drives the Triumph down the high street of Portwenn, marvelling at the quaint beauty of the village. Once they reach the harbour, Stirling points him up the hill to the surgery. They park the Triumph on the front flagstone area.

Joe has already moved all the bags upstairs. Roberta and Richard are sharing the spare bedroom, which has been outfitted with two single beds – one brought over from the police station. Emily and Robert will have Stirling's bedroom, which now contains Joe's old bed.

After Stirling shows her sister and family around the surgery and explains the sleeping arrangements, Emily asks: "Where are you staying?"

"At Joe's," she says simply. "That's where we'll be holding Christmas celebrations. He pointed out the police station to you on the way past I hope?"

Her sister frowns slightly as she nods her head but says nothing.

_I'm 34 years old_, thinks Stirling. _She can frown all she wants but I'm an adult. She needs to get over her need to control me._

"You can't stay at Joe's the night before the wedding," Emily says with an edge to her voice. "That would be bad luck."

There's an awkward silence in the room.

"I agree," says Joe.

Stirling stares at him in disbelief.

"We'll have to make different arrangements for that night," he adds. "Perhaps all the ladies can stay at the surgery and the men will stay at the police station."

"Sounds good," says Rob, impressed with the sergeant's quick thinking.

"Anyway," says Stirling. "We'll leave you here to settle in. I thought we could all have dinner at the pub tonight. It's just down the hill; you passed it on your way in. Let's all meet there at 6:30?"

"Wonderful," says Rob.

Stirling and Joe go down the stairs and out the front door. She watches him as he heads toward the Land Rover.

"You agree with Emily about not being together the night before our wedding?" she asks incredulously. "What happened to 'I don't think I can sleep without you.' And 'I want you in my bed from this day forward'?"

Joe walks back to her.

"She seemed a bit uncomfortable with the idea of us living together before we're married," he admits with a shrug. "I thought a small compromise for one night might humour her."

He wraps his arms around her and kisses her on the nose.

"I think it's very romantic you still remember what I said to you that morning right in this exact same spot."

"Of course I remember," says Stirling, as she raises her lips to his. "I remember everything, including what you hinted about on the train platform."

She gives him a hard, deep kiss. He kisses her back just as enthusiastically, his arms encircling her body, rubbing softly on her back.

Stirling pulls away from his grasp with a laugh.

"I'm going to beat you home," she says with a grin, putting on her helmet and pulling down her goggles. "Then you'll have to find me. I'll give you a hint – I'll be the one completely starkers."

She starts the Triumph with a roar. She is already heading up the high street past the harbour by the time Joe has the Land Rover out of the surgery parking lot. When he finally parks at the police station, the Triumph is already parked and cooling down.

The station is closed for the afternoon so Joe doesn't have to worry about anyone coming by looking for assistance, unless it's an emergency. He unlocks the house door and walks in, locking the door behind him. He listens but all he can hear is the clock ticking.

He pulls the blind down over the door window and removes his duty belt, hanging it on a wall hook, while he kicks off his shoes.

_Where would she hide?_ he wonders, removing his tie and starting to unbutton his uniform shirt.

He walks quietly around the downstairs of the living quarters – the kitchen and bathroom are empty, she's not in the parlour or the lounge. He looks at the door that connects the police station to the living quarters but moves upstairs instead. The bathroom is empty, the master bedroom, including cupboards and wardrobes, empty; same with the guest bedroom.

Joe is baffled. He removes his uniform shirt and hangs it up, draping his tie over the hanger. He pulls off his uniform pants and folds them on a separate hanger, putting them in the wardrobe. He throws his socks in the laundry hamper.

Wearing just his boxers, he goes back downstairs. He looks at the closed station door.

_She wouldn't dare, would she?_ he wonders.

Joe tries the door, which is unlocked. He can't recall if he locked it or not; most days it's hit or miss whether he remembers to. In the station area, he walks into the front reception area – empty. The communication window between the reception room and main office is closed. He walks down a short hall and opens the office door. The blinds have been drawn and it's quite dark. As he walks in, he feels movement behind him. He turns and feels a hand push him backwards into his office chair. And then Stirling is straddling his lap, her lips against his, her hands in his hair, running down his chest to the elastic band of his boxers. He gasps as her hand keeps going lower, touching him, exciting him.

"We really shouldn't be in here," he manages to stutter between kisses, his arms wrapped around her body.

She leans back and looks at him, a slight smile on her face.

"Then I guess you better leave."

She moves to climb off his lap but he stops her, pulling her back against his chest.

"Don't you dare," he says softly, kissing her long and hard. "You're not going anywhere."

* * *

Later, Stirling lies sprawled on the bed upstairs, her head cushioned by a down-filled pillow. Joe lies on his side, facing her, his eyes closed and a hand stretched out, resting on her small rounded belly. She traces the lines on his face lightly, running her finger over his eyebrows, down his nose, around his mouth. She stretches up and kisses his nose, moving lower to kiss his mouth. It starts out as a soft kiss; then she pushes her lips against him harder, more demanding. Joe pulls back.

"Stirling," he says softly, pulling on a lock of her hair. "You're wearing me out."

She looks at him, surprise in her eyes.

"You don't want to?"

"We made love yesterday morning, twice last night, once this morning, and you just ravaged me downstairs in the office – which I'm sure doesn't fit with the Devon and Cornwall Police code of conduct. Now you want to do it again?"

She nods her head emphatically.

Joe groans, rolling onto his back.

"I'm sorry, Cheeky, but I don't think I can. I'm exhausted."

Her lower lip trembles.

"It's starting," she says, her voice choked with emotion. "You don't want me anymore."

Joe sits up suddenly, a stab of panic in his chest.

"No, no, I didn't say that at all!" he says quickly. "Of course I want you. I want you all the time. But I can't physically have you all the time. I need to rest. So do you."

Stirling sniffles, tears soaking her face, dripping off her nose and chin.

"You don't find me appealing anymore."

Joe watches in disbelief as she emotionally falls apart, shaking and sobbing uncontrollably. He pulls her onto his lap, holding her as she cries.

"I find you extremely appealing," he says, rubbing his hand over her belly. "I don't know about other men but the fact you are pregnant, that you're carrying our baby inside you, makes me want you even more. But I can't make love with you continuously. I have to rest from time to time; your boundless libido is wearing me out."

He rocks her back and forth, rubbing her back.

"I think what's happening right now is you're experiencing mood swings and feelings of insecurity brought on by the pregnancy."

She looks up at him through her tears.

"How do you know?"

"Well, I've been reading this book," Joe says, leaning over toward his bedside table and picking up a thick volume. "It's called _What to Expect When You're Expecting_. It's quite interesting. Every expectant father should have to read it. It explains a lot about mood swings and morning sickness and..."

"Where did you get that from?"

"I ordered if from a bookstore in Bodmin."

"Why?" asks Stirling, her eyes wide with amazement.

"Because I want to know what's happening," he says. "I want to know what changes are going on inside you. How the baby is growing. What he or she looks like at certain stages. I feel like I just showed up for the fun part and left you with all the work for the next nine months. I want to be involved."

Her tears stop as she listens to Joe explain himself. She kisses him tenderly.

"That's so sweet," she says, kissing him again. "I want you to know what's happening too, be involved."

She continues kissing him and Joe finds himself responding to her, pulling her to him, stroking her body. She rolls on top of him, ready to ravage him again. He's not sure how she's done it, but she's managed to get what she wanted. He almost laughs but is distracted by the amazing things she is doing to his body, the amazing feelings he is experiencing. He unseats her and rolls her under him, deciding he'll do the ravaging this time.


	18. Chapter 18

A few hours later, he wakes from a deep, peaceful sleep feeling incredibly refreshed, surprising considering how short the nap was and how much he exerted himself before. The space beside him in the bed is empty. He can hear water running in the washroom down the hall. He checks his watch. Not a lot of time before they're expected at The Crab and Lobster.

He jumps out of the bed and pads down to the loo, knocking lightly before entering.

"Stirling?"

He enters and finds her standing in front of the washbasin, wrapped in her dressing gown, her hair in a towel on her head. She is clutching her toothbrush, white knuckled, in one hand and staring intently into the sink. She braces herself against the sink edge and retches, nothing coming up. She looks at him in the mirror with a half smile and then braces herself for the next wave.

Joe shakes his head. He had hoped this was over; he had thought it was over; she had told him it was over.

"You had assured me there is nothing wrong," he says, sounding annoyed. He comes up behind her and rubs her back. A third wave hits her, bending her over the sink. "You need to see someone about this."

"I know," she manages to choke out, taking a mouthful of water and spitting it out. "It's been kind of busy."

"Make time. This is important."

She turns and touches her nose to his before turning back to the sink to finish brushing her teeth.

"Don't fuss! Have your shower."

He gives her one last concerned glance and steps into the tub, closing the shower curtain around him.

Ten minutes later, he walks out of the washroom and finds Stirling staring into her wardrobe, apparently lost in thought. She's only half dressed – a black maternity bra and a lacy black pair of knickers that just manage to contain her belly.

_Soon I'll have to start wearing maternity knickers_, she thinks. _Ugh!_

Joe quickly dresses in clean boxers, a pair of blue jean trousers, and a comfortable soft cotton shirt. As he's pulling on his socks, he realizes Stirling still hasn't moved from staring into the wardrobe.

"You better get dressed or we'll be late," he says, watching her.

"I don't know what to wear," she says, moving clothes back and forth. "Everything here makes me look pregnant."

"You are pregnant," says Joe patiently.

"But I don't want to look like I am."

"You can't hide it forever."

She finally grabs a long red pullover and a black pair of stretch leggings. She quickly pulls up the leggings, stretching them carefully over her belly, and then yanks the pullover on over her head.

She slips into a pair of black paddock boots and rushes back to the washroom to brush out her hair. She quickly plaits the hair on each side of her head back, pinning them together with a silver clip.

Joe comes up behind her and kisses her exposed neck.

"You look beautiful. Let's go."

Downstairs, he helps her put her winter jacket on before slipping on his police anorak. He grabs the radio from his duty belt and puts it in his pocket.

"On the job, 24/7," says Stirling with a grin, kissing him on the cheek.

Joe locks the house door behind them and takes her hand as they walk side-by-side up the hill toward the harbour and The Crab and Lobster.

It takes them about 10 minutes to walk to the pub and they pass a few other people walking around the village. Everyone greets them, wishing them a Merry Christmas.

Stirling is absolutely ravenous by the time they enter the Crab. The barkeep gestures with his thumb to the back dining room as Joe takes their coats and hangs them up on the rack inside the door. They cut through the nearest doorway, passing many of the pub's regulars.

"Evening, Doc. Evening, Joe," they each say in series as the pair passes them.

"Evening fellas," says Stirling.

As she enters the back dining area, she sees her sister, Rob and the kids sitting at a large table in the centre of the room. She waves at them and moves to join them but Joe holds her back.

"The Doc's here," he says, nodding toward a smaller table situated in the far corner of the room where the surgeon is sitting with Louisa, eating dinner. "I think we should stop by and tell him about your nausea."

Stirling looks unconvinced.

"They're having a nice quiet dinner together, Joe," she says. "I don't think we should disturb them."

"This is important," he says, striding toward their table.

Stirling groans.

She stops to explain to her sister and Rob what's going on.

"We're just going to have a quick word with the Chief."

Emily looks over at the unfriendly-looking doctor's table and nods.

Stirling quickly walks over and joins Joe, who is apologizing.

"Sorry for interrupting your meal Louiser, Doc," he says.

"No you're not," the Chief mutters. "If you were, you wouldn't have done it."

Louisa gives her husband a dirty look.

To Joe, it's like nothing has been said.

"I think Stirling needs to be examined and I wondered if you had time. She's experiencing severe nausea again."

The Chief looks over at her.

"You're getting sick every day?"

"Yes," she says hesitantly, worried about what Joe must be thinking. "It had stopped for a few weeks but it's returned."

Louisa looks up, concerned.

"You're 16 weeks?" the Doc asks.

"Almost 17."

"Why am I only hearing about this now?"

Stirling blushes slightly. "I've been hoping it would stop on its own, like it had before," she says. "It's also been a busy time. I haven't had many opportunities to speak with you."

The Doc looks at her sharply. "You're worse than your own patients! Meet me in the surgery at 8:30 tomorrow morning," he says, turning back to his plate of fish and steamed vegetables.

"But that's Sunday! I don't want to bother you on your day off."

"8:30."

Stirling is silent for a moment, working hard to gain control of her emotions.

"Yes, Chief."

"Thanks, Doc," says Joe, taking Stirling's hand and walking back to their table.

"You're fussing," she hisses in his ear.

"Someone has to," he hisses back.

The pair spent a pleasant evening with Stirling's family. She is able to catch up on all the happenings in the village she grew up near while entertaining Joe with stories of her wicked and precocious childhood. There is much laughter.

At the end of the evening, Stirling mentions she has an early morning meeting with the Doc the next day and wonders if Emily, Rob and the kids would like to have a quick walking tour of the village after. It's decided they will leave on the tour as soon as Stirling's appointment is finished.

She hugs Emily, Rob and the children goodnight and sets off hand-in-hand with Joe for the police station.

"I'm going with you tomorrow," Joe says.

Stirling looks at his profile as he walks beside her, looking straight ahead. He doesn't look happy.

"You don't have to. I'll be fine."

"This is important. I want to be involved. And you haven't been honest with me. You've left this way too long."

"Don't be melodramatic," she laughs, lifting his hand and kissing the back.

Joe stops walking. "I'm not being melodramatic," he says seriously, looking into her eyes. "Have you looked at yourself? There are dark circles under your eyes, your cheeks are hollowing out. Your breasts and belly may be getting bigger but the rest of you is shrinking."

"I'm worried about you, Stirling. I'm worried about you and the baby."

She reaches up and brushes his hair back from his forehead. She kisses him gently. "You're very sweet. But you worry too much. I've been taking care of myself, following the suggested treatments."

"Doctors aren't supposed to treat themselves. Just let the Doc look at you," he says, kissing her gently back.

"I am! I am!" she says with a smile, gripping his hand tightly and continuing to walk toward home.

Once they're in the door, Joe helps her off with her winter coat and hangs it up. While she checks the answering machine used for forwarded medical calls, he goes into the station and checks the office answering machine.

"Anything?" he asks coming into the kitchen.

"Molly called," Stirling says, preparing to heat some milk on the cooker. "Connie Allisters' water broke about half an hour ago. She's on her way there."

"Do you need to go?"

"No," she says, stirring the heating milk. "Molly thought she would let me know in case there's an issue and I need to be called in. This is Connie's fifth baby; she could probably do this on her own but her husband always becomes so hyper. Molly's really there just to keep him under control."

"Do you want some hot chocolate?" she asks Joe as she pours herself some and starts stirring.

"No thanks," he says, yawning and stretching his arms over his head. His shirt rides up, baring his muscled stomach and Stirling feels a flare of passion deep in her stomach. She sips her hot chocolate and watches him unbutton his shirt and put it with the dirty clothes in the laundry room along with his trousers and socks. Soon, he's padding around the kitchen in boxers and a white T-shirt. And Stirling is turned on.

She has always been attracted to Joe, making love with him regularly. But lately, she wants him all the time, anywhere and everywhere. And she's been very insistent. She's read up about this aspect of pregnancy, which happens with some women but not all. It's made for an interesting week.

As she takes the last sip of her hot chocolate, she decides to follow Joe's lead. She yanks her red pullover up and over her head and puts it with dirty clothes in the laundry while also peeling off her black tights and socks. She pads barefoot back into the kitchen in just her black bra and panties.

Joe stares at her as she gives a big yawn and stretches her arms up over her head, showing off her blossoming breasts and rounded tummy.

"I think it's time for bed," she says innocently.

"I think you're right," Joe says, grabbing her, hoisting her face first over his shoulder and spanking her bum lightly. "Just how I like them – barefoot and pregnant."

Stirling shrieks with laughter as he carries her up the stairs to their bedroom.

* * *

Stirling opens her eyes slowly, feeling very comfortable and warm. She finds herself wrapped in Joe's arms, her head nestled on his chest. She smiles and snuggles closer against him. She feels his arms tighten around her. He mumbles something in his sleep.

She checks the time – 7 a.m.; an hour and a half before her appointment.

She turns her face into Joe's chest, breathing in his musky scent. She kisses his chest, moving slowly up his torso to his neck. She kisses and nibbles on his skin there while she gently moves her right hand up and down his chest.

She feels Joe tighten his arms again, trying to keep her in place.

"Someone's awake," he says with a smile, his eyes still closed.

She kisses him on the lips gently.

"Good morning," she says.

He rolls so her body is under his and kisses her back.

"The day is getting closer," he says, kissing her neck, shoulder and then downward.

"What day?" she laughs, running her fingers through his dark hair.

"The day you will finally be mine," he says huskily, moving his lips back up to hers.

"I'm already yours," she whispers, kissing him back with a deep need.

"Forever," he mutters against her lips.

"Forever."

* * *

Later, Stirling sits in the bathtub as Joe shaves. It's an activity she never tires of watching, reminding her of mornings spent perched on the bathroom counter at the farm in Yorkshire, watching her father go through the same ritual.

Joe looks at her in the mirror and sticks his tongue out.

"You better get to it," he says, glancing at his watch. "Only 30 minutes until your appointment."

Stirling stands in the tub and grabs a towel and wraps it around her like a blanket. She pulls the plug to drain the tub and walks up behind Joe. She kisses him on the cheek where a bare patch has been cleared by the razor.

"I'll get dressed."

Standing in front of the wardrobe, she reaches for her typical uniform these days – black, stretchy pull-on riding pants and a baggy, oversized pullover. As she yanks it over her head, she realizes it's one of Joe's; she smells his scent on it. She smiles to herself, grabbing the hem and pulling it up to her nose. She loves that smell.

"It looks much better on you," Joe says as he walks into the bedroom, a towel around his waist. "Much, much better."

He comes up behind her and wraps his arms around her, caressing her belly with his left hand and kissing her neck.

"Get dressed," she laughs, giving him a playful shove.

Joe puts on civilian clothes, sticking with his plan to come with her to the appointment. He sees her watching him in the wardrobe mirror and reads her expression.

"I'm coming with you and you can't stop me."

She reaches into the wardrobe and digs out a pair of tall, black riding boots, which she slips on with ease.

Downstairs, he helps her on with her jacket and grabs his own plus the ever-present police radio. Within minutes, they're climbing the hill into the village, leaving the police station behind them.

"When are your mother and Sam expected tomorrow?" she asks, grabbing his hand.

"Around two or three o'clock in the afternoon. I have everything ready for Mom in the guest room. Sam is going to sleep on the couch in the lounge."

"Are you sure he'll be comfortable there?"

"None of the drunks have ever complained," Joe says with a laugh.

They walk along in silence, Stirling enjoying the crisp morning air.

"I'm nervous," she admits. "This will be the first time I've met your mother. She might not like me."

"What's not to like?" asks Joe, kissing her left hand.

"I'm stealing her little boy away."

Joe laughs ruefully.

"I haven't been her little boy in a long time."

Stirling's about to tease him about always being a mama's boy when she feels a clenching in her stomach. She fights it back, reciting the periodic table in order in her mind – backwards and then forwards. There's also pain building in her head.

As they are about to pass the harbour and begin the climb up the hill to the surgery, the first serious wave of nausea hits her. _Shit!_ she thinks as her strong strides shorten and falter. She had been feeling so well; she can't fight this one back.

She let's go of Joe's hand as she feels the first stomach contraction. She bends over at the waist, clutching her belly as if holding it on the outside will keep what's on the inside from coming up.

"Stirling?" she hears Joe say with a hint of alarm in his voice.

She goes down on her knees, retching loudly. She can feel the bile burning her throat and her mouth. She retches again, feeling like her stomach is turning inside out. She can hear voices but they seem far away, like they're echoing down a long, corridor. One of them is Joe's; she can hear him saying her name, trying to get her back on her feet.

Her eyes are open but everything is moving so slowly. There are two fishermen beside her now. _Mike Chubb, such a nice man,_ her mind registers. _And Chippy Miller, who's always getting hurt._

Joe is squatting in front of her, trying to get her to focus on him but she feels so weak. She feels herself falling backwards. Only the quick movement of Joe's hands keeps her from striking her head on the roadway.

_The sky is grey and overcast, so depressing for Christmas_, she thinks as she looks languidly at the sky.

She remembers in Yorkshire the sky was also usually grey in winter but sometimes there was snow. "Maybe it will snow in Cornwall," she mumbles, dreaming about how wonderful the cold flakes would feel melting on her face at that moment.

Joe is terrified; there's no other word for it. He is practically screaming Stirling's name, his normal calm control seemingly abandoning him. Mike Chubb and Chippy Miller are trying to help him but he feels panic setting in.

A calm voice is suddenly beside him, a gentle hand on his arm.

"Let them carry her, Joe," says Ruth Ellingham softly. "They'll get her to the surgery quicker."

He turns and looks at her. She gives him an encouraging smile, leading him a few steps away. This provides the fishermen enough room to lift Stirling, cradling her weight between them as they walk up the hill toward the surgery.


	19. Chapter 19

Dr. Ellingham is sitting at his desk in the consulting room, sipping his espresso and contemplating the tardiness of Dr. Aylesworth, when there is a commotion at the front door.

"Doc!" he hears Penhale yell much too loudly for so early in the morning.

He looks out the consulting room door and sees two fishermen carry Stirling into the surgery waiting room. She is limp, her head lolling back but her eyes are still open. She is mumbling something incoherent. Beside her, Penhale is frantic, about the only thing keeping him under control the firm grip of Ruth's hand on his arm.

The Doc is immediately on his feet. "Bring her in here," he says, pulling down some sterile paper over the examination couch. Mike and Chippy gently lay her on the padded surface and step back to give the Doc room.

"What happened?" he asks as he pulls down her lower eyelids, checking their colour.

Silence.

He looks up at Joe, who is staring wide-eyed in fear. "What happened?" he asks again, louder.

Joe jumps slightly and looks at him. "We were en route to the surgery," he explains, sounding very much like he's delivering a police debrief. "When we reached the harbour area, Stirling stumbled. She went down on her knees and retched multiple times. Then she fell over backwards."

"Did she hit her head?" the doctor asks, shining a light in her eyes.

"No, I cushioned her head before it hit the ground. Mike and Chippy came and carried her up to the surgery."

The Doc looks over at his Aunt Ruth, who nods her head.

He turns back to Stirling. "Dr. Aylesworth, can you hear me?" he asks loudly. "Dr. Aylesworth?"

He slaps her cheek lightly and then jumps quickly to the side as he senses Penhale move for him. Ruth stops Joe with a calm voice.

"He's not hurting her," she soothes. "He's just trying to wake her up."

She gives the Doc a dirty look.

"Don't do that again," says Joe in a tone of voice that makes the Doc look at him uncertainly, twice, before moving to stand on the opposite side of the examination bench.

He pinches Stirling's skin and watches how quickly it moves back into shape.

"She appears to be extremely dehydrated," he says. He grabs his cart and moves it over to the bench, digging in the drawers for tubing. He looks up at Ruth.

"I'm going to need some oral rehydration solution," he says.

She quickly moves to a cupboard and digs through the shelves until she finds it. She mixes it with water in a glass and brings it to her nephew, who is busy putting a nasogastric tube down Stirling's nose. "I need to get liquid into her and this is the quickest method I have. I don't have the necessary equipment for an intravenous drip," he explains to Joe, who is pacing nervously. This is the most agitated the doctor has ever seen him.

The Doc measures an amount of oral rehydration solution into a large syringe and screws it to the end of the tubing. Slowly, he depresses the plunger, forcing the liquid through the tube and into Stirling's stomach. "We have to do this slowly so she doesn't just bring it back up."

He looks up at Ruth. "You better call an ambulance," he says quietly, glancing with concern at Joe.

He turns to the two fishermen. "Thank you very much for your help," he says. "We'll take it from here."

With a last concerned glance at Stirling, Mike and Chippy leave the consulting room and the surgery, heading back to their previous work.

"How much has she been vomiting?" Dr. Ellingham asks, unscrewing the syringe and sucking another dosage of rehydration solution out of the glass.

Joe paces, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. "I don't know," he says. "It used to be several times a day but that ended about two or three weeks ago. And then Friday night, I find her honking in the kitchen sink. And yesterday evening, it was the bathroom sink. And now this. I've asked her about it but she says I'm worrying too much or fussing. She doesn't like fussing. She's always made light of it, said most pregnant women experience morning sickness."

"I think this is more than morning sickness," says the doctor, giving Stirling another dose. "This sounds like hyperemesis gravidarum, which is a complication in pregnancy that results in severe nausea and vomiting, ultimately leading to severe dehydration and malnutrition of both the mother and the baby."

Joe looks completely stricken and the doctor quickly finds him a chair to sit in.

"It's treatable," he assures him quickly. "But we have to get her to the hospital."

"We need an ambulance," says Joe, jumping up and digging in his pocket for his police radio.

"Ruth has already called one," says the Doc, sitting him back down.

"It will be here soon," Ruth adds as she walks into the consulting room.

The Doc gestures her over and has Ruth continue administering the solution. He digs in his cart and finds the hand-held fetal heart monitor and gel. He lifts Stirling's pullover and puts a healthy glob of gel on her belly. He turns on the small monitor and rubs it around her belly, searching for the baby's heartbeat. He soon finds it and the quick lub-lub-lub echoes through the consulting room.

Joe listens, a small smile coming to his face.

The Doc looks up at him and his eyes soften slightly. He almost smiles. "Nothing wrong with that baby," he says. "Very strong heartbeat, well within normal range."

He wipes the gel off Stirling and pulls down her pullover. After putting his equipment away, he relieves Ruth of her duties.

Every few minutes, the Doc forces another dose of rehydration solution down the tube into Stirling's stomach. After about 15 minutes, she begins to stir, flailing her hand up to her nose. "Just lie still," says the doctor, holding down her arm to keep her from pulling out the tubing.

"Stirling!" Joe chokes, jumping out of his chair and leaping to her side. He grabs one of her hands, rubbing it with both his.

"Joe," she says sleepily, her eyes half closed. She brings her other hand up to cup his cheek. "You look terrible. You shouldn't worry so much."

The Doc makes a grunting noise as he dispenses more solution.

She turns her head to look at him. "How are we doing, Chief?" she asks, slurring her words slightly.

"Well, the baby is doing fine," he says. "Fetal heartbeat is strong and normal. You, however, are not."

"I feel horrible," she says, laying back her head against the bench padding. "My skull is throbbing."

"You've managed to allow yourself to become severely dehydrated."

"I have not," she says, sounding outraged. "I've been doing my best to rehydrate between bouts of nausea. And I've been drinking copious amounts of water and taking oral rehydration solution when I'm able to choke it down."

Ruth snorts.

"And have you been able to keep it down?," asks the Doc.

Stirling is quiet. "No."

Joe stands beside her, continuing to hold her hand. "You can't keep doing this," he says quietly. "You can't continue keeping things from me."

Stirling looks up at him, her eyes sad. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I didn't want to worry you."

"And I'm so calm and unconcerned now," he says sarcastically.

Stirling visibly flinches.

"You have to let me know what's going on," he says, bending over and kissing her forehead. "You have to let me in."

The Doc can hear a siren in the distance.

"The ambulance is here," he says quietly.

Joe stands up.

"I'll direct them in," he says, walking out of the consulting room.

Stirling lies on the examination bench quietly, her heart aching. "Are you sure the baby is okay?" she asks, trying to keep her emotions under control.

"The baby is fine," the Doc assures her. "Don't worry about that."

The siren comes closer and closer and suddenly falls quiet outside the surgery. She hears the attendants and Joe come through the front door. She also hears footsteps pounding down the stairs. _Shit! Em and Rob_, she thinks.

She quickly looks at the Chief. "Don't tell them anything!" she hisses at him.

"Who?"

"She's back here," she hears Joe say and then Em's voice. "Joe, what's going on?"

The Doc looks at her and nods his head.

Two medics enter the room. They both know Stirling and look surprised. "Doc Stirling!" says Paul, looking up at the Doc with concern.

"Severe dehydration," Dr. Ellingham explains. "Probably some malnutrition as well. Get her transferred and prepped and I'll fill you in at the ambulance."

Paul and Harry work quickly and efficiently, transferring Stirling from the examination couch to the stretcher. They soon have an IV line in her administering a steady drip of saline and electrolytes. They remove the nasogastric tube, to her great delight, cover her with a blanket and begin to strap her down.

"We'll have you feeling better in no time, Doc," Harry says.

Stirling can hear Joe in the hall speaking quietly to Em and Rob. _Please don't tell them,_ she thinks. _Please don't tell them._

As the stretcher comes out of the consulting room, she can see Emily's pale face. "Stirling! My God! What's going on?"

"I'm just feeling a little ill," she says. "I'll be okay in a few days."

"You're getting married in a few days!" says Emily, frantic.

"It's okay," says Joe. "We'll deal with one thing at a time. Let's get Stirling feeling better and then we'll worry about that."

He turns to Rob and hands him the keys to the Land Rover. "It's parked by the police station," he explains. "If you want to come to the hospital. We're going to the one in Truro."

"Thanks," Rob says. "Don't worry about us. We'll figure it out."

Soon the stretcher is out the door and in the ambulance. Joe sits next to Stirling, holding her hand. Paul also climbs in the back along with the Chief, who looks over his shoulder. Em and Rob stand in the surgery doorway, looking concerned.

"We have a 34-year-old female, she's currently between 16 and 17 weeks gestation, first pregnancy, displaying symptoms of severe dehydration and possible malnutrition brought about by hyperemesis gravidarum. Approximately one hour ago she fainted, became incoherent, the episode lasted about 20 minutes. She has received two concentrated doses of oral rehydration salts administered nasogastrically at two minute intervals. With this pregnancy, she has a history of morning sickness, which ended about two weeks ago but has now resurfaced. Once she's stabilized, she'll need a full blood work up. I suggest you have Dr. Edson or Dr. Pieters examine her."

He turns to Joe. "They're both very good obstetricians and have dealt with this kind of complication before."

Stirling looks up at the Doc. "I think you should contact Connie Allister. She went into labour last night. Molly was assisting but I haven't heard back."

The Doc gives her a severe look. "Dr. Aylesworth, you're about to be sent by ambulance to hospital with severe dehydration and you're concerned about a woman who is giving birth to her fifth child?"

"She has to be checked up on," she says stubbornly. "I don't care if it's her 18th child."

"I'll look into it."

"Thank you."

"Okay, get her out of here."

The Doc walks out of the ambulance and Harry closes up the back ramp and door.

"Don't worry about a thing," Paul says, switching IV bags. "We'll have you at the hospital in no time."

Stirling turns her head to look at Joe who sits by her side, gripping her hand in both his, his head down. "I'm sorry, Joe," she whispers.

He looks up and smiles slightly.

"I don't mean to shut you out. I love you; I love you so much. I don't want to worry you. I also don't want to rely on you for everything. I've taken care of myself for a long time. It's hard to give up some control."

"I don't want to control you," Joe says, kissing her hand. "I just want to be part of your life, part of the adventure, part of having this baby. You can't do it alone and I don't want you to. I want to be there, through the good and the bad. A wise woman once told me that was what being in a marriage was all about."

Stirling smiles and squeezes his hand.

* * *

Once they reach the hospital, Stirling is brought in through the maternity department's emergency entrance, Joe right beside her. They aren't going to shake him off or ban him from a room. One bossy nurse tries and is shut down by Stirling.

"He's my fiance, my lover, the father, and he stays."

The nurse isn't sure what to say to that so she leaves it alone.

Dr. Edson just happens to be on call and turns out to be a petite lady of about 60 who looks like she's seen and experienced everything. She's gentle and kind as she examines Stirling, talking and explaining to both her and Joe exactly what she's doing and what she's looking for.

"It would appear your GP's initial diagnosis is correct," she says. "Your dehydration is severe. We're going to do some blood work to see how extensive it is, how out of balance your electrolytes are plus see if there are any signs of malnutrition. Your baby's heart rate is very strong and normal but I think we're going to take a closer look, see what size he is and whether the hyperemesis gravidarum has had much of an effect on fetal growth rate.

"You two sit tight. I'll have a nurse in soon to start taking blood and a technician with a 3D sonogram."

"I really need to wee," says Stirling.

"Good," the doctor says with a smile. "That means the IV is working and we'll be able to have a good look at your baby and your cervix. I'm afraid you'll have to hold it until the sonogram is done, Dr. Aylesworth."

Stirling closes her eyes and groans.

"I take it you don't want to hear any songs or stories about water or the sea or waves," says Joe. "Do you want to hear that story about the water leak again?"

Stirling sticks her tongue out at him.

"You're feeling much better," he says. "You really had me worried, Stirling."

A young nurse comes in and takes vial after vial after vial of blood from her left arm. Not long after she leaves, another young woman wheels in the sonogram machine.

"I hear you really need to wee so we'll get this show going as soon as possible," she says, plugging things in and pushing buttons.

"This might be a bit cold," she warns, squirting gel onto Stirling's little potbelly. She rubs the wand through the gel and begins to circle around Stirling's stomach until she finds the baby.

"Very active and a strong heartbeat," she says with a smile, clicking and taking measurements. The technician spends about 10 minutes measuring the baby and digging the ultrasound wand into Stirling's bladder.

_I hate sonograms_, she thinks grumpily, her eyes watering from the pain and pressure.

"All done," the technician finally says. "Do you need help going to the loo?"

"I'll help her," says Joe, stepping forward and supporting Stirling out of the hospital bed and into the private washroom, pulling her IV on a pole behind her. When she's finished, he helps her back into the hospital bed.

The technician finishes packing up the machine and wheels it out of the room.

"Get some rest," she says, closing the door behind her.

Within minutes, Joe is snuggled in the hospital bed behind Stirling, his arms wrapped around her, his left hand on her belly, her head snuggled up under his chin. It is a tight squeeze but Stirling feels secure in his arms.

He kisses the top of her head. She wants to turn and face him but there isn't much room in the bed. She feels him put both his arms under her hospital gown and cup her belly with his hands.

"I love you," he whispers in her ear.

"I love you," she whispers back.


	20. Chapter 20

Stirling is bored – mind numbing, yawn invoking bored. It's just after noon on Monday, Christmas Eve Day, and she's in the Truro hospital, trapped in a private room, tethered to an IV drip line and under orders not to leave her bed except to use the loo. She's staring at a tray covered in drab, tasteless, boring food – clear broth, hot tea, red jelly. _Yawn_, she thinks, knowing the nurse is going to scold her for not eating any of it. She can't stomach the thought of putting it in her mouth. She can't stomach the thought of being stuck in this room one minute more.

Yesterday afternoon, she ended up being admitted to the hospital on the orders of Dr. Edson. She had been enjoying such a wonderful nap, snuggling in the hospital bed with Joe's arms around her. But as soon as her eyes opened, she knew she was going to be sick; knew she needed to get out of bed. She had tried, shifting her legs over the side, but it was too late. She leaned over the edge of the mattress and vomited, yellow bile splashing on the floor.

Joe had awoken immediately, pushing the nurse call button. He grabbed a small steel bowl from a nearby table and handed it to Stirling, who promptly vomited in it.

The nurse rushed in, took one look and called for the doctor.

Stirling hadn't been able to stop. The waves of nausea had crested over her again and again. Her throat burned and her eyes watered.

Luckily, Dr. Edson had rushed through the door and took charge.

"Ease yourself back into the bed, doctor," she said, helping Stirling lie back on the mattress. "Just move slowly. I want you to turn onto your right side."

"I'm going to be sick again," Stirling croaked, beginning to feel a sense of panic, like she was going to choke.

"That's okay," said the doctor, helping her roll over. She held a steel, kidney-shaped dish for her to be sick in. "That's it. Now lay your head back on the pillow and try to relax. Close your eyes. Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. Relax."

A very tense looking Joe had leaned against the far wall, keeping out of the doctor and nurse's way as they worked to get Stirling's vomiting under control. After a few more dry retches, the nausea eased.

"Okay, rest and relax," said Dr. Edson. "I have some of your tests back. Your electrolytes are all over the place. Based on your records emailed to us from Portwenn compared to your weight when you came in this morning, you've lost almost one stone in the past four weeks. You're going the wrong way, Dr. Aylesworth."

Joe looked worried.

"Unless we can get some food and liquid down you and keep it down, you might be staying here for a while. Or we may have to install a feeding port."

Stirling had paled visibly, making her whiter than she already was.

"No!" she whispered.

"You're going to be here for the next few days, I'm afraid. We have to get your fluid levels up and balance your electrolytes or you'll be on your way to developing more severe complications and possibly hurting the baby. I want you to keep still. No sudden movements, no over excitement."

The doctor looked at Joe.

"It might be helpful for her to have some items from home; her own sleep clothes, books to read, things to entertain her for the next few days. Bed rest is incredibly boring."

Joe nodded, uncertain where to look to find jim-jams for Stirling. She hadn't worn clothing to bed for months. Maybe he'd have to buy her some. He looked overwhelmed.

"If this works out, you'll only be here for a few days," Dr. Edson assured Stirling, who, in what is becoming a regular display of hormonal flux, had cried.

Now, she wants to cry again but from boredom.

Poor Joe had not wanted to leave her but Dr. Edson managed to arrange a ride for him back to Portwenn. He had been back three hours later with a bag full of items for her and with Emily and Rob in tow. Stirling had difficulty explaining to her sister exactly what was wrong with her, keeping it as vague as she could.

"It's some kind of stomach upset," she had said. "It's made me dehydrated, which has made me even more ill. Once the doctor gets everything back in balance, I can go home. I should only be here a couple of days."

Emily and Rob had been upset but not as much as Joe when she told him he should go home. "No, I'm staying here with you," he had argued fiercely while her sister and brother-in-law waited in the hall. "I'll take some time off and help care of you."

"I'm only going to be here a few days," Stirling said. "You're needed in Portwenn more than here. Your mum and Sam are arriving tomorrow. You need to be there when they arrive. I'll be fine. There are lots of nurses to take care of me."

He had looked at her dubiously. "The last time I left you alone in the hospital, you managed to sneak out and disappear. You showed up an hour later on my doorstep with outstanding cab fare and a bleeding wound."

"I paid you back!"

"Stirling, you have a reputation for being quite possibly the world's worst patient. That's why I want to stay. You don't always listen to what the doctor and nurses tell you and you need to. It's important. This is serious."

Somehow, she managed to convince him to go home with Emily and Robert. Even so, she had clung to him when he kissed her goodbye, not wanting to let go. After they had left, she opened the suitcase Joe had brought her and laughed at the sleepwear he packed – novelty T-shirts and workout shorts.

As she currently lies in the hospital bed, Stirling is wearing an over-sized red T-shirt with Stay Safe at Night – Sleep With a Police Constable emblazoned across the front plus a black pair of shorts with the Devon and Cornwall Police crest embroidered on one side. The outfit is comfy and reminds her of Joe but it also sparks raised eyebrows when nurses come to record her vitals or replace her IV bag.

She sighs for the 100th time and pushes her lunch tray away. Tomorrow is Christmas. She is supposed to be preparing for a large holiday dinner involving both her and Joe's families. Instead, she is leafing through medical magazines, peeing every 15 minutes and fretting. She wants to be at home, being useful, entertaining family, planning for tomorrow, doing something – anything!

She watches her IV flow regulator – drip, drip, drip, drip, drip, drip. She feels a scream of frustration building. She can't stay in this room any longer.

Stirling jumps out of the bed and slips on her trainers. She glances at the IV pole and scowls. She unhooks the bag and slides it under her baggy shirt, clipping it to the collar from the inside. She walks to her door and peeks around the corner toward the nurses' station. Three nurses are standing there, chatting.

_Shit!_

She jerks her head back to consider the situation. _How do I get out of here with those three chin wagging?_ She sighs. _I'm getting damn tired of this. I'm a 34-year-old doctor and I have to sneak in and out of my room like an errant teenager._

She leans against the wall for a few more minutes and peeks again. The three nurses are gone.

Stirling smiles and quickly slips out her door and scrambles down the hall away from the nurses' station. Once she's around the corner and out of sight, she slows her pace, the sound of crying babies and cooing mothers echoing from many of the rooms she passes.

She's under no illusion that she's an easy patient to work with. On a scale of one to 10, she's fairly certain she's the biggest pain in the arse of medical treatment that exists. There's only so much bed rest she can handle before she has to move, has to do something, or go insane. And her stomach is feeling settled today.

With her rather skilled sense of direction, she turns down several hallways before popping out in the reception area of the department. She quickly walks to the main entrance and out the door before anyone notices her or says anything. She admires the cool winter sunshine with a smile. It's actually really too cold for shorts and a T-shirt but Stirling doesn't care. She's out of bed, she's outside, and she is free. She takes a deep breath and savours the crisp air.

There is a group of benches around a grassed play area and fountain just across the car park within easy distance of the entrance. She walks toward it. A few children are jumping and playing on the equipment, closely watched by their mums and one or two dads. She finds an empty bench in a sheltered area and sits down, lying back against the cool wood, closing her eyes and stretching her legs out in front of her. She can feel the tension and worry leaving her body. Her mind begins to drift, the sound of the children's laughter and shouting soothing her toward relaxation and sleep.

* * *

Joe watches nervously as Sam drives their mum's old Volvo into the Portwenn police station car park.

He's standing on the front step of the station side's main door. He's just locked up for the day, allowed an early shift end on Christmas Eve day. The station will be closed for Christmas and Boxing Day, with any emergencies being handled by the Wadebridge and Delabole detachments.

He slowly approaches the car as Sam parks it and turns it off. His older brother unfolds himself from the driver's side and smiles at Joe across the car's bonnet.

"Joey!" Sam shouts, throwing his arms wide. He glances around. "Where's that sexy Stirling?"

Joe smiles at his brother's enthusiasm. Of course he's looking for Stirling. It's been more than a year since Sam last chatted her up at the Bristol Bobby bar. He probably can't wait to get his hands on her and give her a big sloppy kiss.

Joe opens the passenger door for his mother, offering her his hand for assistance climbing out. She ignores it, brushing past him to look at the station building.

She is a small woman, thin as a rail with acute features – a pointy nose and chin, thin lips that rarely smile. Her hair is fully grey and cut in a short, blunt style. Joe is amazed how much she has aged since he last saw her and how similar she looks to her personality – all sharp corners with no rounded softness.

"You live here?" she asks brusquely, her nose wrinkled with distaste.

"Yes," he says calmly. "We live on the residential side of the building, which covers half the main floor and all of the first floor."

"We?" his mother asks, giving him a quick look. "You're not even married yet and you have the tart living with you?"

He takes a deep breath, digging deep for patience. "Stirling's not a tart, Mum," he says, moving to the boot of the vehicle to help Sam carry in the bags.

"That's what you said about the last one too and look how that ended up," she practically snarls. "Not very good taste in women, my Joe."

"Mum," says Sam in an impatient voice. "You haven't even met Stirling yet. You have no idea what she's like."

"She's marrying our Joe," the old lady says with a snort. "That says a lot about her."

"You're not being fair, Mum," Sam says, struggling to the front door with his armful of bags, Joe staggering not far behind him. "You forget I've met Stirling. I introduced her to Joe. She's a wonderful woman, intelligent and talented; a doctor."

"You told me she was some slapper singer."

Joe feels a flare of anger at the insult his mother casually uses to describe Stirling. He opens his mouth to say something but Sam is already on the defensive.

"That's enough, mum," he says sharply, banging his way through the door with their luggage. "If you like, I can turn around and take you home if you're going to act this way."

The old woman stays silent, gazing around the kitchen, parlour and lounge as she enters the house.

"You're going to be sleeping here," Joe says to Sam, showing him the chesterfield. "And Mum, you're upstairs in the guest bedroom."

Sam drops his own bags off in the lounge and starts teetering up the stairs with his mother's, Joe right behind him with the rest. Their mum tags along slowly behind them, sniffing judgmentally. "Poor Sammy doesn't even get a bed," she mutters.

"The chesterfield has a hide-away bed," he explains to Sam, ignoring his mother's Greek chorus of doom.

Upstairs, they turn toward the guest bedroom, dropping off their mother's luggage. "And this is your room, Mum," Joe explains. "The loo is just down the hall."

She enters and looks around the space, taking in some of the homey touches – such as a flowering plant on the windowsill and current magazines and books on the bedside table – Stirling had added after she found out that Joe's mother would be staying with them. "It will do," she says with a sniff.

"So where's my soon-to-be sister-in-law?" Sam asks again.

Before Joe can answer, his mobile rings. "One moment," he says, moving into the hall to answer it.

"Sergeant Penhale, 3021," he says. "This is he." He's silent as he listens to the voice that can be faintly heard in the guest bedroom. "Not again!"

Sam watches as his brother's face pales slightly and begins looking more and more concerned.

"Where have you looked?" he asks, stopping to listen.

"Check your video feed. I'm on my way."

Joe is moving even before he shuts off his mobile, charging down the stairs with Sam right behind him.

"Where are you going?" his older brother asks.

"Truro hospital," Joe says, turning as his mother comes down the stairs after them. "I'm sorry Mum but I have to go. They seem to have misplaced Stirling – again."

"Stirling's at the hospital? With a patient?" asks Sam.

"No, she is the patient," Joe says with growing impatience.

"Why?"

"It's a long story," Joe says, giving up trying to explain and heading out the door.

Sam glances at his mother and back at Joe. "We'll come with you," he shouts, following after him.

The older woman sighs, shaking her head as she exits out the front door.

* * *

Stirling must drift off for a while because the next time she opens her eyes, most of the children and parents are gone from the playground and the sun has moved lower on the horizon, resulting in long shadows extending across the grass.

She's not sure what awakens her until she hears it again. "Dr. Aylesworth!" a woman's voice calls sharply from behind her. Stirling glances over her shoulder and sees one of her ward's nurses and Joe marching across the car park toward her. Neither is smiling.

_Uh-oh_, she thinks, standing up, a sharp pain in her skull making her gasp. As she reaches up to rub her head, she shivers in the cool air.

Joe reaches her first, pulling her into his arms and holding her close against him. She puts her arms around him, hugging him back, startled by his greeting. He kisses her repeatedly, relief on his face.

"I was so worried," he says softly into her ear. "The hospital called and said they couldn't find you. They've been tearing the hospital apart looking. Your doctor eventually called me to see if you'd pulled another runner to Portwenn. I told them to check the video footage and I came right away."

Stirling looks at her watch. She's been asleep for four hours.

"I came out to get some air and enjoy the sunshine," she says, confused, her head pounding. "I must have fallen asleep."

"Dr. Aylesworth, you're not supposed to be out of your bed," the nurse says sharply, her breathing laboured. She notices the IV hook and reaches for it, pulling it from the inside of her shirt. "And I see your IV bag is empty and it probably has been for hours."

Stirling is finding all of the activity and tension around her disorienting, making her head hurt even worse. She tries to focus on Joe, who at least isn't lecturing her. "How's your mum and Sam?" she slurs, feeling like her tongue has grown three times larger in her mouth.

He looks at her with concern. "They came with me. They're waiting in your hospital room."

She suddenly feels dizzy and her eyes roll back into her head. Her knees buckle and Joe grabs her, lifting her into his arms. The nurse hovers nearby, surprised by Stirling's sudden collapse.

"We need to get Dr. Aylesworth back to her room and get some liquids into her," she says, trying to help Joe support her.

"I'm okay," he says, carrying Stirling through the main entrance and along the hallway.

She opens her eyes slightly, watching the hospital walls move by her. Or is she moving past them? She can't decide and closes her eyes again, focusing instead on the sounds echoing in her head – her own heartbeat plus Joe's, and the steady rhythm of his breathing. She can hear shoes squeaking on the floor and the nurse speaking to someone. And Joe; she can hear Joe softly saying her name, urging her to wake up, to be all right. And then she is laying on something soft and warm. She's back in her bed. There are voices all around her. A nurse is connecting her to a fresh IV bag. Dr. Edson is shining a light in her eyes. She sees Joe standing behind her doctor plus an older woman and a man – Sam.

"Sam," she whispers. "Where have you been hiding, you smarmy bugger?"

She hears him laugh and she closes her eyes again, a slight smile on her lips. She feels drunk. But she hasn't had alcohol in years, not since that night in the London pub when she had the bad allergic reaction.

"Sam," she whispers again, beckoning to the man with a flapping hand. He leans down beside her left ear and whispers: "Hello sexy Stirling."

"Take good care of my Joe," she says, patting Sam on the cheek lightly. "He worries too much." And then she falls asleep, her hand falling from his face.

Dr. Edson turns to Joe. "I expect any gains we've managed to make in her condition since yesterday afternoon have been eroded in the past four hours," she says, her eyes looking sad. "I must apologize to you, Sergeant. Both you and Dr. Ellingham warned me of Dr. Aylesworth's propensity toward wandering. I should have taken your concerns more seriously."

Joe looks at Sam. "I need to talk with Stirling's doctor. Can you take Mum to get a tea or something to eat?" Sam nods and grabs their mother's arm, practically dragging her out of the room.

Joe turns back to Dr. Edson. "Is she going to be okay?" he asks. "And the baby?"

The doctor touches his arm. "They're both fine. But she really needs to be getting more nourishment than the IV. If we can get her fluid and electrolyte levels under control and back to normal, I can try her on some anti-nausea medication and see if she can keep food down. But until then, she has to stay on bed rest. And if she can't stay in the bed voluntarily, I'll have to order her restrained."

Joe nods his head slightly as he listens. "I'll stay with her."

"It might be for the best, Sergeant." Dr. Edson smiles grimly. "Like most doctors I've treated over the years, she's not very open to following another physician's orders. And we don't have the staff to monitor her constantly."

"I understand," says Joe, shaking the doctor's hand before she leaves to continue her rounds.

He picks up a chair and sets it next to Stirling's bed, gently picking up one of her hands and holding it as she sleeps. He watches her, concerned and worried. _Why does she have to be so difficult, so headstrong and stubborn?_ he wonders. _She's a doctor; she understands the seriousness of the situation, the risks. Why can't she just do as she's told?_

Sam and his mother return about five minutes later, bringing Joe a tea and some biscuits. "You might as well take the Land Rover and go back to Portwenn," he says as he sips his drink. "I'm staying here with Stirling."

Joe hands his keys to Sam, explaining which one opens the house door.

"What about tomorrow?" his mother asks, sounding a bit annoyed.

Joe sighs, running his hand through his hair. "I'm sorry Mum but our family dinner is just going to have to wait until Stirling's better and can come home. Hopefully that will be in a few days. Until then, I'm staying here with her. You and Sam will have to entertain yourselves. Maybe you can visit with Stirling's sister, Emily, and her family. They're staying up at the surgery."

"Well, this is a fine way to treat your mum and brother," the old woman says grumpily. "We travel all this way to see you and now you're going to spend the holidays babysitting your tart."

Joe's eyes flash with anger as he looks up at his mother but Sam moves quickly before a battle of words can begin. "You stay here with Stirling, Joe," he says softly, clasping his brother's shoulder. "Mum and I can entertain ourselves for a few days. Help her get better. You both have an appointment at a church in less than a fortnight. She needs to be feeling her best before then."

"Thanks Sam," Joe says as he watches his older brother drag their complaining mother back out of the room. He can still hear her moaning like billy-o as they walk down the hall.

Joe sighs and rests his head on Stirling's hospital bed, clasping her hand against his cheek.


	21. Chapter 21

Stirling wipes sweat from her forehead, using one of the soft baby blankets tucked in the nappy bag, as she walks along the paved park path. It's an incredibly hot and humid summer day in London and she's looking forward to finding a vacant bench under a shady tree to rest.

A noise comes from under the raised hood of the black, antique perambulator she is pushing, forcing her to stop and peek underneath. Mason is still asleep, his little hands in tight fists, his arms splayed out above his head. She feels his cheeks to make sure he's not too warm. Satisfied, she continues walking.

Up ahead, she can see the entrance to the London Zoo, large groups of children and adults filing through to visit the animals.

She veers off the path, intent on reaching an empty wooden bench she can see shaded by a large willow tree near the bank of a small stream. She sighs with contentment as she sits down, engaging the brake on the pram with her foot. She leans back against the bench, wishing there was a breeze to cool her. She wipes her face again, sweat stinging her eyes.

Even though Regent's Park is teeming with people, it's quiet where she and Mason sit. She can hear the shouts and laughter of children plus music playing in the distance but rather than being loud and annoying, it's relaxing and soothing. She closes her eyes, savouring the peace and quiet.

She's startled from her dozing by a shout of pain, looking up in time to see a man stumble on the path in front of her and fall to the ground, clutching his chest. She jumps up from the bench and notices her doctor's bag clipped to the side of the pram. She reaches out to unclip it but is stopped by a familiar voice.

"You can't leave the baby, Stirling," it says.

She spins around, shocked to see Joe sitting in full uniform on the bench she has just left.

"But I think he's having a myocardial infarction," she says, pointing to the man lying on the path. "He needs my help."

"You have to take care of Mason," Joe says stubbornly.

"I'll take him with me," she says, struggling to disengage the brake on the pram. But it won't move. She tries to reach in and grab Mason but the hood is frozen in place, not providing enough room for her to reach her baby.

She looks over at the man, who has stopped moving but is still moaning. "I have to help him, he's going to die," she says to Joe, panic beginning to creep into her voice.

"You can't abandon the baby. He needs you."

Stirling is conflicted, unsure what to do. She looks at the pram and then looks back at the path. The man is gone. She stands in shock for a moment, staring at the empty spot by the path where he was lying just a moment ago.

"He's gone," she says, turning back toward the bench. Joe has disappeared too.

_It must be hotter than I thought_, she thinks. _Now I'm hallucinating_.

She sits back down on the bench, shaking slightly. She closes her eyes, trying to relax again, but is startled by a scream.

Behind her, a woman is struggling to reach her toddler, who has fallen in the stream. She is screaming for help.

Stirling rises from the bench, intent on going to her aid, when another voice stops her.

"You can't leave your baby, sis," Emily says, leaning against the trunk of the willow tree.

"But that woman's baby is drowning," she says, pointing at the stream, hysteria in her voice. "I can help her."

"Mason needs you more."

"But I won't be going far. He's asleep. I'll be able to see the pram easily from there."

She takes several steps toward the stream but stops as Mason begins to cry. She turns back to the pram and then looks at the woman, who has now turned toward her, screaming for help. Mason cries louder. Her stomach clenching with apprehension, Stirling races back to the pram, unable to listen to her baby cry for one second longer. She shoves back the hood and picks him up, holding his little body against hers, rocking him back and forth.

As she holds her baby, she looks down toward the stream and is surprised to see the woman and her toddler walking away hand-in-hand as if nothing happened. They are both laughing and giggling. Emily no longer leans against the willow.

Stirling sits down on the bench, cuddling Mason to her chest. His cries have quieted and his eyes have closed again; his little fists gripping her shirt; his head, covered in soft, black hair, nestled under her chin. She rocks him gently and hums softly, a feeling of peace enveloping her.

She hears fierce barking in the distance but ignores it. It comes closer, accompanied by the sound of a man yelling. She looks toward the zoo and notices a large dog running down the path, dragging its leash. A man runs behind it, yelling for it to come back.

As the dog races closer, barking and snarling, Mason begins to cry. Attracted by the noise, the dog veers toward the bench. Stirling immediately stands up, alarmed by the crazed look in the animal's eyes as it runs toward them. She reaches into her doctor's bag and grabs the familiar handle of a scalpel before stepping up onto the bench seat. She clutches Mason to her, turning slightly so he is protected by her body from the rushing dog. She can hear it panting and growling as it runs under the overhang of the willow tree.

"You have to protect the baby," she whispers to herself, bracing for the impact of the dog's attack. As it leaps toward her, she slashes with the scalpel, shocked as it yelps in pain and falls to the ground in front of the park bench. The creature lies there, panting, blood seeping from its neck.

Stirling turns away from the sight and hugs her baby, cooing and singing to him, trying to quiet his cries. She kisses his beautiful round head and rocks him back and forth, rubbing her hand gently against his back. Tears trickle down her face as she whispers: "I'll protect you. I'll never leave you. I won't abandon you."

* * *

Stirling gasps as her eyes open to blackness. _Where am I?_ she wonders, panic rising in her throat. _Where's my baby?_ She fights back the terror as she glances around in the darkness. She's lying in a bed. A man is sitting in a chair beside her, his head resting on the mattress, arms sprawled across her body, a hand lightly holding one of hers.

_It's Joe_, she realizes, suddenly remembering where she is and why. _What is Joe still doing here?_

She touches her belly, feeling the growing roundness. _It was a dream_, she realizes. _But it was so vivid_. She can still feel the warmth and softness of Mason's little body against her chest, how delicate his hair is tickling under her chin. _It felt so real_.

Stirling is still feeling disoriented as she slowly raises the back of the bed so she is sitting up. The pressure on her bladder is bordering on painful. She has to use the loo. She slowly shifts her body to the side of the bed opposite Joe, gently moving out from under his arms. She climbs slowly out of bed, but almost pulls her IV port out as she walks toward the washroom.

_Damn, I forgot I was still attached_, she thinks ruefully, walking back and dragging the IV pole with her. Once she's finished in the loo, she pushes the IV back to her bed and climbs up on the mattress and under the covers. She feels a tinge of sympathy as Joe slowly sits up, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I'm sorry, Joe," she whispers, touching his arm. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"What time is it?" he asks, yawning and stretching his stiff body.

Stirling looks down as her watch closely in the dim light. "I think it's about three in the morning." She shifts over on the mattress. "Come, get into bed with me. You'll be more comfortable."

Without a word, Joe kicks off his shoes and unbuckles his duty belt, setting it on the back of the chair. He unbuttons his uniform shirt, making her lower belly heat up in anticipation as he pulls out of the sleeves, a white T-shirt underneath. She actually holds her breath as he unbuckles his belt, wondering if he's going to strip down to boxers. She feels a slight twinge of disappointment as he climbs into bed beside her with his uniform pants still on.

"For a minute there, I was thinking you were going to strip right down," she whispers as he settles in beside her, resting his head on half of her pillow. "Actually, I was hoping you were going to."

"Someone's feeling better," he says softly with a slight laugh, pulling her close to his chest. She snuggles against him, her arms wrapping around him. He does the same, resting her head on his right shoulder, snuggled under his chin.

"I've missed you," she whispers, rubbing her nose against his T-shirt, smelling his familiar scent.

"I've missed you too," he whispers, kissing her forehead. "I'm going to be staying for the next few days, until you're well enough to come home."

"But what about Sam and your mum?"

"They're just going to have to take care of themselves. I need you better and back home. And that's not going to happen if you ignore what the doctor tells you."

"I don't need a babysitter!" she says, struggling to sit up.

He holds her tightly against him. "Your behaviour up to now shows that you do. Dr. Edson suggested using restraints to keep you in your bed. Rather than see you handcuffed to the bed, which I admit has a certain appeal but not in a hospital, I volunteered to take care of you for the next few days."

Stirling giggles. "What a cliché! The police sergeant – the keeper of the handcuffs – is into bondage."

He feels her shake with laughter against him and he smiles. _My Cheeky Tart is definitely feeling better, _he thinks_._

"Ssshhh," Joe whispers in her ear, rubbing his hands up and down her back. "It's time to go back to sleep."

She snuggles close to his chest and relaxes, closing her eyes. "I had this really strange dream and you were in it," she whispers.

"How strange?" he whispers back.

She smiles. "It wasn't that kind of dream. I was pushing Mason in a pram through Regent's Park, looking for a shady bench to rest on because it was such a sizzler."

"Regent's Park? In London?"

"Yes. I finally find one and I'm resting when this man has a heart attack right in front of me. I rush to help him but you suddenly appear and tell me I can't abandon the baby. Then this toddler falls in a stream and I want to rescue him but Emily tells me I can't leave Mason because he needs me. I walk toward the stream but the baby starts crying. I have to rush back to the pram because I can't bear to hear him cry. I hold him and cuddle him until he stops crying but this dog tries to attack us. I manage to stop the dog with a scalpel. As I'm comforting Mason, I tell him I'll protect him, I'll never leave him and I won't abandon him. And then I woke up."

"Hmmm," mutters Joe, half asleep.

"It felt so real," Stirling says. "It was like I could actually feel him against my body and in my arms."

Joe snores softly beside her. She smiles. _Well, I've lost my audience_, she thinks. She slowly takes her right arm from around Joe's body and settles it on her belly. "I'll protect you," she whispers, closing her eyes and relaxing in Joe's arms.

* * *

The next morning, she is awoken by a pleasant voice wishing her a Merry Christmas. She rolls over and is greeted by a ward steward who sets her breakfast tray on the moveable table beside her. She helps Stirling raise the back of her bed and fluffs her pillows.

"It's Christmas, love, so please give me a gift. Why don't you actually try this meal?" she suggests with a smile. "I'm tired of sending your trays back untouched. And you must be feeling hungry. That IV can't be very satisfying."

Stirling looks around the room. "Where's Joe?"

"The Sergeant? He's using the guest shower down the hall. And then he mentioned he was going to grab some breakfast."

Stirling nods her head. "Thanks."

"I'll be by later to pick up your tray and I want it to be empty," the steward says with mock severity as she leaves the room.

Stirling sighs and lifts the tray cover – oatmeal, a glass of milk, bran cereal, hot tea, a blueberry muffin. Her stomach grumbles. _That muffin looks good_, she thinks, reaching out for the sweet treat. She slowly breaks it apart into small pieces and eats them slowly, hypersensitive to how the food feels in her stomach. She adds milk and sugar to the tea and sips it slowly, periodically pulling faces at its bitter taste. She sprinkles a touch of demerara sugar over the oatmeal and slowly spoons it into her mouth, chasing each spoonful with a sip of tea. Finally, she pours the bran cereal into the provided bowl and pours the milk over it. She's slowly eating a spoonful when Joe walks through the door, clutching a brown take-out bag. He stops and stares in amazement as he watches Stirling eat. He quickly takes in the empty dishes and glasses on her tray.

"Merry Christmas, Cheeky," he says, leaning over and kissing her nose before sitting down in the chair beside her bed. "Finally feeling hungry?" She nods her head, her mouth full of food.

"Merry Christmas, Lover Boy," she says with a smile after she swallows. "I don't know what happened. I woke up and I was starving. I've been eating slowly though; I don't want to honk it back up."

Joe smiles as he watches her, a feeling of relief in his stomach. _Now she just needs to keep it down_, he thinks.

She has just finished her last bite of cereal and has set the bowl and spoon back on the tray when the steward returns. She too stares in disbelief at the tray, which contains only empty dishes.

Stirling leans back against the bed and stretches. "That feels good," she says, rubbing her stomach.

"Just relax and let the food settle," says Joe, removing the tray from her lap and handing it to the ward steward. He grabs her blankets and lifts them up her body, tucking them up under her chin. "Just close your eyes and relax."

Stirling smiles and sighs, her eyes closed, as Joe kisses her on the forehead. He sits back in his chair and watches her. _It's only taken 60 hours but she's finally managed to eat something solid_, he thinks. He opens his take out bag and pulls out his own breakfast, unwrapping an egg and bacon breakfast sarnie he bought in the hospital cafeteria.

As the smell wafts her way, Stirling opens her eyes, watching Joe take a bite. "Can I have a nibble?" she asks.

He arches his eyebrows at her as he chews. "You want a bite of my breakfast sarnie?"

"Yes," she says. "It smells amazing and I'm still a little bit hungry."

Joe takes another bite, watching her eyes follow his mouth. She licks her lips. "What are you going to do for me if I give you a bite?"

Stirling looks outraged. "What is this, blackmail? Why can't you let me have a bite because it's Christmas, you love me and we're getting married in 11 days?"

Joe thinks for a moment as he chews and shakes his head. "Not enough," he says, smiling and taking another bite. "This is a really good sarnie. I can't just give away a bite based on sentiment. I need something in return."

Stirling glares as she watches him eat. Less than half is left. "What do you want? Name your price."

Joe smiles victoriously. "I want you to promise me that you will stay in this bed for the next two days – without complaining or whining – only getting up to use the loo or have a shower."

"That's a lot to ask in return for one bite of a sarnie," she says, watching him take another. "If there's even one bite left."

"Good thing I bought another one," Joe says, pulling another wrapper out of the bag. Stirling's eyes light up. "You can have the whole thing if you promise me what I ask."

He waves the wrapper in front of her face, the smell driving her insane. "Deal," she finally says, reaching out for the sarnie, which he reluctantly gives her. "Eat it slowly," he says, watching her rip off the wrapper and take a bite. She closes her eyes and chews, blissful noises coming from her throat.

"Zhith ith tho gude," she mumbles.

Joe laughs. "Don't talk with your mouth full. Sometimes you display the manners of a spotty-faced police cadet."

Stirling blushes as she swallows. "I'm sorry, it's just I'm so hungry."

"I'm glad," he says, grinning as she takes another bite.

Dr. Edson stops in shock as she enters the room on her morning rounds, watching Stirling chewing. "Is that actual solid food in your hand, Dr. Aylesworth?" she asks, amazed. "And are you actually putting it in your mouth and chewing it?"

"Yeth!" Stirling says with a full mouth, making Joe cringe.

The doctor picks the chart up from the end of her bed and examines the notes. "It's a Christmas miracle. It says here you ate all of your breakfast as well. How's your stomach feeling?"

"Empty. I woke up this morning really hungry. I haven't felt this way in a while. So far, my stomach is cooperating."

"Let's not push it," says Dr. Edson. "I'm going to have a technician come in and take some more blood samples and see where your levels are. Your colouring is much better than yesterday afternoon. After you're finished that sandwich, nothing more to eat until lunch. Your stomach may feel fine now but we'll see how it handles the food after its started being digested. Meanwhile – bed rest!"

"Yes, Dr. Edson," Stirling manages to choke out, fighting back the urge to stick her tongue out at the obstetrician or make a rude gesture.

"I'll be back after lunch to check on you again. I should have the test results by then. Merry Christmas," she adds as she walks out the door.

Joe digs in his paper bag and pulls out a fruit cup and plastic spoon. As he peels off the container's plastic lid, Stirling watches, chewing slowly. "Is that diced fruit?" she asks after she swallows down her bite.

Joe nods, putting a spoonful in his mouth. She watches him chew, still holding half her sarnie in her hand. "Is there any pineapple pieces in there?"

He nods his head, still chewing.

"I'll give you a bite of my sarnie if I can have a few pieces of pineapple."

He laughs, trying hard not to choke. "As much as I'm enjoying all this food bartering, I'll let you have some pineapple for free." He manages to scoop up a couple of pieces on the spoon and feeds them to her.

She closes her eyes and enjoys the tropical sweet taste. "Yum!"

Joe leans back in his chair and grins as he watches Stirling slowly devour her sarnie and then proceed to lick her fingers clean. "That was bloody delicious!" she says, rising from the bed.

"Where are you going?" he asks suspiciously, scraping the last of his fruit cup onto the spoon.

She stops and smiles saucily at him as she pulls her IV pole away from her bed. "To use the loo. I believe that was on the list of acceptable activities I can partake in."

"Yes, it is," he says with a nod, putting the last spoonful of fruit in his mouth.

Stirling digs through her suitcase and picks out a clean sports bra, knickers, T-shirt and shorts before heading into the loo. Ten minutes later, she's out with neatly brushed hair pulled back in a ponytail, sparkling teeth, clean face and fresh clothing. Her new T-shirt reads: I Listen to the Voices in My Stethoscope.

After parking the IV pole beside her bed, she climbs back into her hospital bed, sits cross-legged in the middle and looks expectantly at Joe. "So, what are we going to do today?"

"Well, at this moment, I'm going to take some blood samples," answers a young nurse from the doorway, startling Stirling. She sets up her equipment beside the bed and is soon filling vial after vial with blood. Five minutes later, she's finished and Stirling has another plaster to add to her collection.

"Now, where were we?" asks Stirling after the nurse hurries away with the samples. "Oh yes, what are we going to do today?"

Joe looks a bit lost. "What do you want to do?"

"Do you know how to play backgammon?" Joe shakes his head. "How about chess?" He shakes his head, much to her disgust. "Cribbage?" He shakes his head. "Brag?" He shakes his head. "Euchre?" He shakes his head. "You grew up in Cornwall and you don't know how to play euchre?" He nods his head.

Stirling sighs in frustration. "Two player canasta?" He shakes his head. "Black jack or crazy eights?" He shakes his head.

"Shithead?" Joe pauses. "I take it that's a card game and not a description of me?" he asks. Stirling laughs. "Yes!" He shakes his head.

She's losing her patience. "Go fish?" He gives her a look of disgust. "Of course I know how to fish! I grew up in Cornwall. But I'm not sure how we're going to be able to do that in a hospital room." Now it's her turn to give him a look of disgust. "It's a card game," she says. He shakes his head.

"Snap? Which is what I'm about to do!" she gripes. Joe thinks for a moment and nods his head. "I remember that one. Sam and I used to play that when we were ankle biters. We also used to play something called war."

"Aces!" Stirling shouts, raising her arms above her head in victory. "We've finally found something you know how to play! Now we need a deck of cards."

He looks at her, slightly shocked. "You went through that list of games and you don't have a deck of cards?" She nods her head. He sighs, standing up from his chair. "I guess I'll try to find some cards. And maybe something else to entertain you."

He leans over and gives her a kiss before walking out of the room on his search.

She leans back against her bed and reaches for one of her medical magazines piled on the bedside table. As she flips through the pages, she stifles a yawn. "I hate bed rest!" she shouts at the walls of her room. "I'm bored rigid!"

"Are you 'kay?" asks a voice from the doorway.

Stirling turns her head and is surprised to see a petite blonde woman standing just outside her room in the hallway. She is heavily pregnant, actually extremely huge, and she is gripping her IV pole like it's a walking stick.

"Oh my god! I'm so sorry!" Stirling says, blushing in embarrassment. "I didn't mean to startle you. I forgot the door was open. I thought he – Joe – my fiance – I thought he closed it when he left."

"You mean the police constable?" the woman asks, pointing down the hall, obviously in the direction he must have walked.

"Sergeant," Stirling corrects automatically.

"He's with you?" the woman asks, coming into her room. "Aren't you a jammy bitch! He's rather bang-tidy."

Stirling raises her eyebrows, not quite sure how to respond to that kind of sexually charged compliment about her Joe, especially from such a heavily pregnant woman. "Hands off, he's mine!" she says with a laugh.

The woman looks at her for a moment and then laughs as well. "I'm Sondra," she says, giving a little wave.

"Stirling."

"So what are you in for, Stirling?" Sondra asks, looking her up and down. "You don't look pregnant."

"Hyperemesis gravidarum," Stirling says, "which is actually a fancy way of saying severe nausea related to pregnancy. I'm almost 17 weeks."

Sondra gives her a surprised look. "You should have seen me at 17 weeks. I needed to wear a support belt to hold up my stomach. You barely have a belly at all!"

Stirling gives her a look. "Well, based on what I'm observing, you're either two or three weeks past term, which no obstetrician would allow, or you're about 35 weeks carrying twins or 30 weeks carrying triplets." She glances at the IV pole. "And they're inducing you."

Sondra looks at her in disbelief. "Thirty weeks carrying triplets. How did you know that just by looking at me?"

"No offence but you're huge, much larger than a woman of your size and build should be at full-term. So I surmise you are carrying multiples. Based on your size, I'm pretty certain there are more than two."

Sondra laughs. "You sound like Sherlock Holmes. Or a doctor."

"I am a doctor; a GP. You should have a seat," she adds, referring to one of the guest chairs. "Rest your feet."

Sondra gratefully flops into the chair closest to her. "So doctors end up locked up in hospitals as patients at Christmas time, too. For some strange reason, that makes me feel better."

Stirling smiles. "What did you think? That we have some exclusive club in southern Spain we go to when we are ill? Despite how we might act at times, we are human. We get ill, we develop diseases, catch bacterial infections, get pregnant and have babies, just like everyone else. I'll tell you one thing though, we make terrible patients; at least I do."

"You must have been the woman they were searching all over for yesterday."

Stirling laughs. "I see my reputation has proceeded me. I'm not adapting well to bed rest, thus explaining the police presence. If I don't do as I'm told, it's shackles next."

Sondra looks at her wide-eyed. "You're pissing around!"

"No, she's not," says Joe, walking through the door, carrying an armful of boxes, which he sets on the end of the bed. "She's under strict orders not to leave her bed. She hasn't been wandering the halls again, has she?" he asks, looking at Sondra.

"No Officer," she says from her chair, smiling and biting her bottom lip. "But she has been shouting at her walls."

Joe turns and gives Stirling a strange look. "I was feeling a little stir crazy after you left," she explains. "Anyway, Sondra, this is Joe. Joe, this is Sondra."

Joe shakes hands with Sondra, looking down at her stomach. "Wow, you're huge!" he says, his eyes widening.

"He's a real charmer, isn't he?" Sondra says to Stirling, laughing. "A pleasure to meet you, Joe," she adds in a husky-sounding voice.

"Sondra is expecting triplets and, based on the level of her IV drip of pitocin, should be experiencing contractions soon. I'm sure your doctor or midwife has already performed several membrane sweeps and broke your waters. Isn't someone supposed to be monitoring you?"

Joe suddenly looks alarmed by this news and no sooner has Stirling asked the question than a young nurse jogging by glances in the room, stops and rushes in.

"Mrs. Clarke, there you are," the nurse says. "I've been looking everywhere for you. We need to give you another internal exam and see how things are progressing."

She helps pull Sondra to her feet and begins leading her out the door, pushing her IV pole beside her.

"Good luck, Sondra," Stirling calls as the pair leaves the room.

"I wonder if the nurse needs any help?" Joe considers, beginning to walk toward the door.

"No!" Stirling says sharply, a bit sharper than she actually means to.

Joe looks back at her, giving her a curious look. "Why not?" he asks, walking toward the bed.

She wiggles her finger at him, asking him to bend over closer. She puts her arms around his shoulders, pulling him even lower until their foreheads practically touch. "I don't trust Sondra around you," she whispers. "I'm afraid I'm somewhat of a jealous type."

"You're talking about the woman pregnant with triplets, right?" he whispers back. "You don't have anything to worry about."

"I think you're underestimating the situation. She is lusting after you. One of the first things she said to me was how 'bang-tidy' you looked."

Joe arches his eyebrows at Stirling. "Bang-tidy?" he asks. She nods her head. He's silent for a moment. "Do you think I look bang-tidy?" he asks her. She nods her head. He's silent as he thinks about this. "And what exactly does that mean?" She pulls his head down further and whispers in his ear. He pulls back from her in surprise. "Really?" he asks, a hint of doubt in his voice. She nods her head. "And you agree with her?" Stirling gives him an "Are you joking?" kind-of look, nodding at the same time.

"Well," he says, climbing into the bed beside her, kicking off his shoes, "Merry Christmas to me!" He pulls her close against his body and kisses her passionately, a bit more passionately than one would expect in a hospital room with the door wide open. Not that Stirling is paying any attention to that detail as she feels Joe's hand move up the front of her baggy T-shirt. She's concentrating more on the kissing and the touching and the kissing. She's becoming rather aroused when a loud voice cuts straight through the mood.

"So this is what you're doing while your brother and I sit alone on Christmas morning in a strange house in a strange village," a female voice snarls, heavy with criticism. "I could have enjoyed a better Christmas at home, by myself."

Both Stirling and Joe open their eyes and look at one another, their lips still pressed together. He slowly pulls his lips away from hers, closes his eyes in abject horror, bows his head and leans his forehead on her chest. "Oh shit!" he whispers.

"Oh shit!" a male voice echoes, sounding a lot like Sam. "I think we should just shut the door and go back to Portwenn, Mum."

"No, we came all this way for a visit. We're going to have a visit."

Joe and Stirling are scrambling to untangle themselves from one another and sit upright in the bed when she hears a familiar voice echoing down the hall. "I think it's this room right here," a female voice says and Emily marches in, followed closely by Robert, Richard and Roberta.

"Oh!" Emily says, taking in the situation in one glance. "Children, wait outside."

"No way!" says Roberta, laughing. "This looks interesting!"

"Roberta! Richard!" Emily says sharply.

"You're no fun!" Roberta says glumly, giving her mother a dirty look. "Aces, Aunt Stirling! Aces!" she adds, giving her aunt two thumbs up as she walks into the hall.

"Only Aunt Stirling could get a booty call while in the hospital," Richard says, backing out the door with a smile on his face.

Emily shuts the door, glaring at Stirling and Joe before glancing curiously over at Sam and his mother. "Hiya," she says. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," says Sam, reaching out to shake her hand. "I'm Sam Penhale, Joe's older brother. This is our mum, Edna."

"Nice to meet you Sam, Edna. I'm Emily Muncie, Stirling's older sister. This is my husband, Sergeant Robert Muncie. And those two hooligans outside are our children, Roberta and Richard."

There's much hand shaking and introductions all around. During that time, Joe and Stirling manage to sort themselves out, Joe jumping out of the bed and offering his mother a place to sit. She sniffs her disapproval as she settles into the chair beside the hospital bed.

Joe puts his shoes back on as Emily opens the door for Roberta and Richard, who immediately rush in, big grins still on their faces.

"Mum," Joe says nervously, unsure what's going to happen next. "I'd like you to meet my fiance, Stirling. Stirling, this is my mum, Edna Penhale."

Stirling smiles and offers her hand to the sour-faced, grey-haired lady. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Edna."

The sharp-eyed woman stares at her, any sign of a smile absent from her face. She looks her up and down as Stirling leans out from the bed, her hand extended. As the seconds tick by, she brings her hand in, realizing no greeting will be occurring. Her smile never wavers.

Sam shakes his head in disgust, glancing at Joe who just looks sickly with nerves.

"You look pretty healthy for someone who has been admitted to the hospital, especially when you're rolling around in bed with my son."

"I'm feeling much better today, thank you," Stirling says, unperturbed. "I've managed to get my appetite back and eat some solid food. So far, it's agreeing with my stomach. Hopefully, if this keeps up, I'll be able to go home soon."

"That's wonderful," says Emily, smiling with relief.

Edna looks at Stirling's baggy shirt and workout shorts. "From the look of your stomach, you might have benefited from a few more days without an appetite. You must be worried about fitting into your wedding dress."

Joe closes his eyes and pales even more. _What a disaster!_ he thinks.

"Mum," Sam says, an edge to his voice. "If you keep this up, I'll take you home. I mean it."

Emily gasps in horror, turning red with indignation, while poor Robert doesn't know what to do, having never actually met anyone quite so rude.

Internally, Stirling is a bit shaken, hurt by the comment. But she'd rather die then let that woman see what effect her words have had. "I'm afraid Cornish food has proven to be a weakness with me. And your Joe is such an amazing cook. He's actually made me some of the meals he learned from you. And, I hope you don't mind, he's also taught me how to prepare some of them."

Edna looks at the pale, lightly freckled, auburn-haired girl and feels a small flicker of respect for her. She searches her face for any weakness, any doubt, the slightest hint of a loss of self-confidence, but can see none. _She's either incredibly stupid or impressively intelligent with a healthy dose of self-respect_. At first, the fact she is planning to marry her Joe had Edna leaning toward stupid, but the more time she spends with her, the more she realizes she's wrong. _She's nothing like the other girl, the temperamental, moody one. This Stirling girl is very intelligent, crafty and has amazing self-control. She is a worthy adversary. So what is she doing with Joe?_ Edna wonders, completely baffled.

"You taught Stirling how to cook?" Emily says to Joe with a trace of amazement in her voice. "You're a brave man."

He feels a twinge of annoyance at Emily's tone, the way she can so easily dismiss any accomplishment her sister achieves. "Stirling is an amazing cook," he says defensively, causing his mother to look at him with a hint of surprise. "She caught on right away. She wasn't difficult to teach at all."

_The puppy has discovered his bark_, his mother thinks, mentally measuring her youngest son. _Perhaps this Stirling girl has had more of an affect on him than I originally thought_.

"I just needed the right instructor," Stirling says, smiling at Joe.

Sam watches this exchange and feels a surge of gut wrenching jealousy toward his brother. It's easy to see he is arse over tip in love with her and she is crazy about him. _But why!_ he mentally screams. _I found her. I saw her first. I chatted her up for more than a month! Joe comes to visit and within two hours of entering the bar, she's snogging with him! I did all the groundwork! Damn jammy bastard! And then she shows up a month or so later in the village where Joe lives and she's a bloody doctor! _Sam suddenly has an overwhelming urge to find a pub and get completely arseholed.

"So my Joey's a good cook, is he?" Edna says, eying him. "That's a quality I never saw when he lived at home. Of course, necessity is a great motivator and he has been alone for several years now since his first wife left him. Did he tell you about her?"

"Yes, he did," says Stirling, completely relaxed but ready for anything. She glances over at Joe, who looks incredibly pale and sickly as he watches his mother, looking very much like a scared rabbit about to be pounced on by a fox.

"Joey has always had terrible taste in women, haven't you boy? I warned him about that one but he never did listen. And look where he ended up, left for another man, kicked out of his own apartment. She said he was boring, spineless and lacked ambition, isn't that what she told you son?"

Emily and Robert watch in silent disbelief as Edna weaves her evil web of words, carefully and painstakingly undermining the confidence of Joe. Roberta and Richard are petrified to be anywhere near the apparently psycho woman while Sam is enraged by the indirect insults his mother keeps tossing at Stirling, disgusted that Joe hasn't immediately jump to her defence.

About the last thing Stirling is worried about is being insulted by Joe's mother. She's far too concerned with the mental torture the old woman is inflicting on her youngest son, who continues to stand there and take her abuse. For Stirling, it's like watching someone kick a cowering dog who has been abused so many times, it just doesn't have the spirit to fight back. It angers her that Edna has the power to do this to Joe, that he doesn't defend himself or walk away, that Sam doesn't stand up for his younger brother. It also reminds her of the destructive relationship she had with Spencer, how easy it is to feel worthless based on the words of someone you love. _He warned me_, she thinks, recalling the night at the tapas restaurant in Bodmin when they discussed their respective families. _But I had no idea it was this dysfunctional. Or that she was such a horrible old hag. No wonder he avoids her._

"I'm concerned that if you two marry, there may be children," Edna says. "I've always been relieved Joe and his slag of an ex-wife never had offspring." She heaves a heavy, sad sigh. "Of course, it meant that I never had the joy of being a grandmother but it's been for the best. I wouldn't want children to be subjected to that kind of life – having a weak and ineffectual police constable for a father …"

"He's a police sergeant, you nasty, evil, bitter bitch," Stirling says, her voice like steel. "Why can't you bloody well get it right? And what did you call him? Weak? Ineffectual? You haven't a bleeding clue what your son is really like, what kind of man he is, what kind of father he will be. How could you? You probably haven't spent more than 10 hours in his presence in the past 20 years. But still you sit here and pick on him, insult him, verbally abuse him. Does it make you feel better about your sick, twisted, pathetic life?"

Stirling is so angry, she's physically shaking, which is unfortunately affecting her stomach. She can feel it clench and roll, bile rising in the back of her throat, but she does her best to ignore it, focusing all of her energy on the evil that is Edna Penhale.

"You say you're worried there will be children if we get married? Start worrying Edna because I hope there will be at least half a dozen who will know the happiness and joy of growing up with a mother and a father who actually love and cherish them. And don't worry, you won't have the opportunity to be anywhere near them, I'll make sure of that. You won't be able to poison them with your vile thoughts and words."

"I'm not sure what happened in your life to make you the psycho bitch that you are today. And I really don't care. I'm just glad that your heinous and malevolent behaviour up to now hasn't managed to destroy the most lovely, beautiful and honourable man I have ever met. You might have had free rein to spread your destructive words but I'm cutting you off. You stay the hell away from Joe and from me. And that includes our wedding."

The room is completely silent as Stirling's tirade comes to an end. Edna stares at her wide-eyed and shocked. "You can't do this," she whispers.

"Watch me!" says Stirling, turning to Sam. "Can you please escort your mother out of this room and take her back to her own home. We'll arrange to have her luggage and belongings sent back to her in the next few days. Sam, you are welcome to stay with us as long as you wish. I just can't have your mother around belittling the man that I love."

Sam looks at her soberly, shamed by her fortitude and courage. "It's time to go, Mum. You've definitely overstayed your welcome this time." He gently takes Edna's arm and helps her from the chair.

She stares at Stirling in disbelief and then turns to look at Joe. "Joey, she can't do this," she says in a pleading voice. "Don't let her come between us."

Joe has been silent throughout his mother's criticism and Stirling's admonishment of her behavior. His face is still very pale, his eyes sad. Stirling sits on the edge of the bed and reaches out to him, grasping his right hand. He moves closer to her, his body touching hers. She wraps her arms around his waist, leaning her head against his side. She feels his hand caress the side of her face.

"Goodbye Mum," he says quietly as his brother practically drags the old lady out of the room, her voice still calling out to Joe and arguing with Sam.

Emily and Robert both heave a sigh, reaching out to touch their two children. They all look pale and exhausted, as if they have lived through a war. "I think we should head back to Portwenn," Emily says quietly. "We'll be by to see you tomorrow Stirling, Joe."

She gives them each a hug and a kiss on the cheek before walking out the door, Robert, Richard and Roberta in tow.

Joe and Stirling sit side-by-side on the edge of the hospital bed quietly, holding hands. They sit in companionable silence for several minutes. "I'm sorry, Joe," she says, leaning her head against his shoulder. "I know she's your mother but I just couldn't listen to her run you down anymore without saying something."

He sits quietly a little longer, gently tracing patterns on the back of her hand. "You are the most lovely, beautiful and honourable woman I have ever met," he says, turning and kissing her. It starts out as a gentle kiss but soon because more heated and passionate. Stirling finds herself lying on the bed, Joe's body partially over her, their hands stroking each other's body.

He pulls back for a moment. "Do you really want to have half a dozen children?" he asks, stroking her cheek. She blushes. "I don't know," she admits. "I never gave it a lot of thought."

"I just wanted you to know that it sounds like a lot of work but I'm up for it," he says.

She laughs. "Are you now?" He smiles. "Always."

They return to kissing and touching.

She touches his cheek, stopping the snogging session for a moment. "I want to have a shower," she whispers. "Now?" he asks. She nods her head. "With you," she adds.

He slowly smiles at her and glances at his watch. "It's almost lunch. Do you want to go now or wait until after?"

"Now," she says, kissing him gently. "Lunch can wait. I'm hungry for you."

He tenderly pulls her up from the bed until she's standing on her own two feet. She carefully disconnects her IV tube from the needle in her hand and tapes the section down with copious amounts of clear adhesive tape. When she's sure it's well sealed from moisture, she takes Joe's hand and they walk down the hall to the guest shower area.

He leads her through the doorway into the large shower cubicle, his lips fiercely seeking hers, as he shuts the door and locks it behind them.


	22. Chapter 22

Stirling and Joe spent a comfortable and relaxing Christmas afternoon together playing snap and war and several board games that Joe discovered during his earlier exploration for the deck of cards.

Despite the queasiness brought on by verbally sparring with her future mother-in-law, Stirling is able to eat all of her lunch, which consists of beef soup, a turkey sandwich, a small selection of raw vegetables, orange jelly and a fruit cup – complete with a healthy serving of pineapple. Not only does she manage to keep it down, she also nibbles on some of Joe's lunch, including a few bites of cheeseburger and a handful of chips.

Dr. Edson comes by to visit around two in the afternoon with the results from Stirling's most recent blood tests. "The IV is doing a fantastic job combating the dehydration but your electrolytes are still a bit off. I'm very impressed with the fact you've been able to stomach solid food and keep it down so far today. But I don't want you to get carried away and think you can move on to fish and chips or roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. Just continue to take it slowly. I'm going to start adding some electrolyte combinations to your IV mixtures to give you a push in the right direction. Keep this up, Dr. Aylesworth, and I'll have you home before New Year's Eve."

_God, I would hope so!_ Stirling thinks, shuddering at the thought of having to stay any longer.

For the rest of the afternoon, she and Joe lie beside one another in the hospital bed, dozing off and on. Sometimes, Stirling rests in his arms reading her copies of the BJM or reciting exciting passages from the book she's reading. Sometimes, Joe just holds her close, rubbing her belly tenderly, whispering endearments in her ear that make her blush.

Joe's mobile rings multiple times during the afternoon as his mother tries desperately to reach him. "I didn't know she even had my mobile number," he says with a smile, kissing Stirling's nose. "I do believe this is the most she has ever tried to contact me in my life." He never answers, letting the call go to voice mail. Eventually, he puts the mobile on vibrate and ignores it, preferring to give Stirling his complete attention.

That evening, Sam stops by to visit with Joe and discuss their mother. "She is really upset," he says, grabbing a chair and sitting down next to Stirling's hospital bed. "She's been trying to contact you all afternoon. She was still dialing your mobile when I left her flat. She wants to talk with you, explain."

"There's nothing to explain," Joe says, leaning back in his chair on the other side of the hospital bed. "She was just being her normal, loving self. I really don't know what I was thinking when I invited her for Christmas. Perhaps I was hoping for a miracle, that maybe she had mellowed over the years. But she's exactly the same, Sam – as nasty as a portable toilet during a food poisoning outbreak at the school fete."

"Bah!" Stirling laughs, imagining the visual. Not wanting to interrupt the conversation, she tries her best to keep a straight face, reaching for the deck of cards sitting on the table beside her bed. _Their mother is an issue for Joe and Sam to deal with; I need to keep out of it – I've done enough damage already._

"She told me she's ashamed of her behavior," Sam says, rubbing at a dark paint stain on one of his knuckles. "She was crying at the time."

"Was she?" Joe asks, looking anything but convinced. "Did you see actual tears running down her cheeks? I don't think she's capable of crying, Sam. If she actually did shed a tear, she'd probably melt away like the wicked witch of the – uh – whatever."

Sam smiles ruefully, looking down at the floor. "She really wants to go to the wedding, Joe. She wants to be part of the celebration. She promises she'll behave."

Joe snorts his disbelief. "Like she behaved the last time?"

"That was years ago!" Sam says.

"That's all I have to go on, mate. Combined with her attitude since she arrived in Portwenn yesterday, I don't see much change. Am I just supposed to take her word for it?"

"Talk to her! Let her explain! This is difficult for her to deal with. She's getting older and she's worried she doesn't have much time left. She wants to make things right."

"I'm glad she's explained all of this to you, Sam, her favourite son. But she's said nothing to me."

"How could she? We arrived in Portwenn and you instantly had to leave for the hospital. You haven't been home since. She hasn't had an opportunity to talk with you. And now you're not even answering your mobile when she calls! How can she explain if you won't even speak to her?"

Joe's silent as he considers his brother's words. Stirling watches him quietly, occupying her hands by shuffling the deck. Sam watches her skillfully manipulate the cards: weave, Hindu, riffle with a cascade finish and then over again, like a professional. _Note to self: never play cards with Stirling, especially if money is involved_, he thinks.

Joe looks over at Stirling, who gives him a sympathetic smile. "What should I do?" he asks her, with a lost puppy kind of look on his face.

She sighs. "I seem to recall not all that long ago telling you I would never keep your mum from attending the wedding, no matter how nasty she is. And then, this afternoon, I did just that. Inside, I know I was right; I just couldn't let her bang on about you like that. But now I'm feeling kind of ashamed of my outburst. I think it wouldn't hurt for you to talk with her, one-on-one, let her explain and give her an opportunity to apologize. She is your mum."

Stirling gives Joe a worried look. "But you can't let her bad mouth you," she quickly adds. "You have to stand up for yourself. She may be your mum but you're not some little boy she can just ride roughshod over. Don't let her bully you. If she promises to behave somewhat like a human being during the wedding, I don't see any reason why she can't attend."

She smiles mischievously. "Maybe we can put her and the Chief at their own table, see who survives the evening. My money's on the Chief," she adds with a grin.

Sam, familiar with the Doc's personality, flinches at the thought. "Give her a call tomorrow morning, Joe, arrange to visit her, work it out. I promise I'll be there to referee."

"Aren't you returning to Portwenn tonight?" Stirling asks.

"No transportation," he says with an embarrassed shrug. "We travelled in her vehicle. I had to take a cab to come to the hospital."

As she sits cross-legged in bed, splitting the deck one handed, Stirling thinks about the current transportation situation and comes to an unwelcome realization. Even when all the busy comings and goings from the village related to wedding preparations and her current stay in hospital are over, she and Joe will still need to seriously consider purchasing another vehicle. But with wedding and honeymoon expenses plus the ongoing negotiations to purchase the surgery, she's not 100 per cent sure how they're going to finance such a purchase. And they haven't even hit the baby expenses yet. She feels tension building in her stomach.

"So when are they ever going to spring you from this place?" Sam asks her, propping his feet up on the foot of her bed. "You look pretty healthy to me; maybe a bit pale and thin in the face, but you seem chipper."

"Hopefully, in a few days," she says, putting the card deck away and leaning back in the bed. "My blood work is still off although the vomiting has eased for now."

"Do they know what's wrong with you?"

"Oh yeah, they have a pretty good idea. It has a big long fancy Latin name; it's not that important. It's basically a stomach problem. With time, it will solve itself. But until then, I might have to go on some medication to help with the symptoms, which are basically nausea, vomiting and retching. Right now, I'm taking it one meal at a time."

"Is it contagious?"

"No, they're just symptoms of a larger stomach issue that will clear up on its own. I just have to take is easy and treat the symptoms until then."

"Hmmmm," he says, nodding his head.

"So how have you been, Sam?" she asks. "Keeping busy? Still hanging out with my rowdy Bristol Bobbies?"

Sam laughs. "Oh yeah, I'm busy, working at the same job, which has been good. Still getting in the odd stretch of extra time. When I have a chance, I spend my Friday nights with the Bristol Bobbies. Place hasn't been the same since you left. Your band's still playing there though."

"The Strip Searchers?" she says with a smile, her eyes shining with excitement.

"Yeah, Duncan and the boys. They found a new female lead singer but she just doesn't have your spunk – it's just not the same without you on the stage. A few of the pub regulars have been asking after you. They were really upset when they found out you were marrying my kid brother. There was a lot of crying into pints of beer the night that was announced. Duncan and the boys said they've been invited to play at your reception."

"Yes, they have," Stirling says with a smile.

"Are you going to sing a few songs for old times sake?" Sam teases. "I know Joe has a favourite song from your set."

Joe shakes his head and waves his arms vigorously at Sam, who just laughs. As soon as Stirling looks his way, he stops his antics, pretending to wipe a speck of lint off his dark uniform pants.

"You have a favourite song?" she asks him with a smile. "You've never mentioned that to me."

"I like all of them," Joe answers diplomatically.

"Oh, he's giving you a porky!" Sam says loudly, laughing. "He has a favourite. He used his mobile to record you performing it that night he met you. I bet he still watches it during those long, lonely hours waiting at speed traps. Don't you, Joe?" Sam teases.

Stirling smiles as Joe gives his brother a withering look. "Which song is it?" she pushes. "Maybe I can arrange a private performance for you."

Joe blushes, making Sam laugh louder. "He'd probably love that, especially during the honeymoon. Right brother?"

"What's the song?" she asks, gently pushing on his leg with her foot as she reclines in the bed. "Tell me!" Joe leans over and whispers something in her ear. "Really?" she asks with a smile. "I think I can arrange a special encore performance just for you, Lover Boy."

Sam laughs so hard he almost chokes. "Lover Boy? That's adorable. I think I'm going to call you that for now on. My little brother, the Lover Boy."

"Don't tease him," Stirling says with a frown. "You're just jealous because I don't have a nickname for you. In a minute, I'm going to call you Sam Gogh the artist and ask you to pick up your ear and leave."

Sam laughs at her joke. "No, I'm jealous because my little brother managed to snag the woman that I wanted; the best-looking woman around," he says with a smile, instantly realizing he's said too much.

Suddenly, the room is filled with an uncomfortable silence, Joe staring in shock at his brother, not exactly sure how to react to his inadvertent confession.

"You do realize, Sam, that at the moment, I am the only woman around," quips Stirling, trying to alleviate the tension. "That's really not much of a compliment."

Sam is blushing and looking at the floor, mortified that he's voiced his thoughts out loud.

"You're jealous of me?" Joe asks quietly, his eyes wide with disbelief.

Sam looks at his brother, scrambling in his mind for something appropriate to say. "Joe, I …"

"Why don't you blokes go for a walk?" suggests Stirling brightly. "You're both lucky enough to be free to wander around this place; make the best of it. Don't worry, I'll still be trapped in this boring bed when you get back, betrayed by my own weakness and a promise coerced using a bacon and egg sarnie."

Joe looks at her with concern. "You'll be okay?"

"Of course," she says with a laugh. "Go have a talk with your brother. I can tell you from personal experience the benches at the playground are very comfy. And a nurse told me there's a lounge with a telly where most of the fath … men hang out and watch football."

Joe leans over and gives her a quick kiss before walking with Sam out the door into the hall. He looks back and gives her a small wave before he disappears from sight.

_Oh Smarmy Sam_, she thinks, leaning back against her pillows. _Why be jealous? You never stood a chance. It was never a choice between you and Joe; it was a choice between Joe and being alone._

* * *

The two brothers walk quietly side-by-side down the hospital hall, the sound of crying babies echoing from seemingly every room they pass.

"They must have a shortage of beds in the hospital," says Sam, looking in the odd room they pass.

"Why do you say that?" asks Joe.

"They put Stirling in the maternity ward."

"Oh, yeah."

They're quiet again as they move through the halls, eventually finding a lounge with a telly tuned to a channel detailing the football game lineup for Boxing Day. It's empty of people, not that surprising for Christmas Day at dinner.

Joe sinks into a comfortable lounge chair, complete with footstool, while Sam relaxes on the large sofa, his eyes immediately going to the telly's screen.

"You still an Aston Villa fan?" he asks.

"Is a football round?" answers Joe quickly.

"They're currently playing like bloody shite."

"Don't I know it," he mutters.

They're quiet for a few more minutes, watching the flickering screen, before Sam finds the courage to speak. "Joe, I need to apologize for what I said earlier," he says. "I didn't mean to say it out loud; I should have kept my thoughts to myself. I'm actually very happy for you."

Joe's quiet for a moment. "I just can't believe you're jealous of me. Jealous? Of me?"

"She's a beautiful, intelligent, talented woman, Joe. It's pretty hard not to be jealous. And I admit it, I am. I remember the first time I saw her up on that stage, driving those coppers wild. I thought 'I want to know that woman.' So I set about getting myself introduced to her, tried to buy her a drink, chatted her up. The fact I got nowhere with her should have been my first clue – she just wasn't interested. But I kept coming back and coming back, weekend after weekend. I still got nowhere with her. And then you came to visit. I wanted to show her off to you – hell, she wasn't even my girlfriend! She meets you, and suddenly her body language changes. She's interested in what you have to say. She's flirting with you. And when she kissed you, I wanted to bloody well kill you."

Sam laughs at the memory. "When you returned to Portwenn, I convinced myself I still had a chance with her. But after a couple of weeks, she disappeared. She never said goodbye, never said a word, she was just gone. Duncan and the guys said she quit the band, was trying to get back into her old line of work. Little did I know that was medicine! And then you phone me a few weeks later and tell me you've seen her again, that she's moved to Portwenn and she's the village's new assistant GP. I wanted to kill you again!"

"So yes, I admit it, I'm jealous. You got the girl, Joe," Sam says bitterly, looking him in the eyes. "You got the girl I wanted and it burns me up inside." He pauses. "But I don't want to kill you anymore."

"Well, that's good to know!" Joe says, shifting uncomfortably in his chair as he looks at his brother suspiciously.

"Because I've realized something, mate. She didn't want me. I could have spent years making a play for her and she never would have given me the nod. It just wasn't to be. But with you, you fucking jammy bastard, the stars aligned, something clicked, the rockets exploded, whatever, and you were the one. You know, it's actually given me hope."

"Hope?"

"Yeah. I think to myself 'If my kid brother, who's a small town copper in a tiny little Cornwall village at the end of a dead end road in the middle of nowhere, can meet and marry a woman like Stirling, blimey, I should be able to hook up with a model who's related to the royal family.'"

The two brothers look at each other for a few seconds and then both start laughing. "Until then, I'll still be a little bit jealous," adds Sam through his chuckles.

* * *

Stirling lies in bed staring at the ceiling, hoping Joe and Sam are getting along and working things out. _God, if I'm not fighting with his mum, I'm causing problems with his brother_, she thinks, shuddering at the idea. _The holidays and weddings, two moments in life when people are most stressed, and we're stupid enough to combine them into one, long, multi-week event. Idiots!_

As she lies there, she hears the dinner trolley coming down the hall. The smell wafting through the ward is fantastic – duck or goose, whipped potatoes, vegetables, cranberry sauce, some kind of pie. She watches, her mouth watering, as the evening ward steward sets her tray on the moveable table beside the bed. She lifts the lid and looks at the wonderful Christmas dinner underneath. She is so hungry.

She unwraps her cutlery and slowly samples the food. This is one of the tricks Dr. Edson has instructed her to use to help keep the vomiting in check. Another idea is to keep the mind occupied on something else besides eating. She uses her old crutch, reciting the periodic table backward and forward, to keep from focusing exclusively on the meal and bolting her food. Once she's finished the main dinner, she moves on to dessert, a rather delicious looking piece of apple pie with a small container of vanilla ice cream. She enjoys every bite, setting the empty tray on the table beside her. She leans back in the hospital bed and employs her third coping mechanism, relaxation, as she waits for her meal to settle.

She feels a twinge of apprehension as she feels her stomach cramp, rolling slightly. She tries a breathing exercise – in the mouth, out the nose – but feels another cramp, a bit stronger. Her throat is starting to tighten and constrict. In desperation, Stirling presses the call button, hoping someone is at the nurses' station. As her stomach rolls forcefully, she knows she can't wait any longer. She jumps out of bed, dragging her IV pole into her private room's loo, and unceremoniously honks up her dinner. The waves of vomiting cramp her abdominal muscles, causing severe pain across her upper stomach and forcing her to her knees. After three or four bouts, there's nothing left in her stomach but it still rolls and cramps, causing her to retch repeatedly. She's trapped on the loo tiles, unable to move very far from the toilet without retching up watery vomit or bile. In desperation, she lies with her face against the floor, switch sides every minute or so, trying to cool down her sweat covered forehead.

"Bloody hell!" she whispers to herself, her throat sore and raw from the stomach acid she's regurgitated. She can feel tears starting to sting her eyes, which makes her angry. "I was doing so well," she says to herself. "I thought I finally had this licked. I'm a bloody doctor. Why can't I get this damn vomiting under control?"

She feels another wave of stomach heaving coming but she doesn't even bother to sit up. There's nothing left in her stomach to vomit. She just retches as she lies on the floor, forcing air and choking sounds out of her throat.

That's the position Joe finds her in five minutes later.

"Stirling!" he cries, horrified. He pulls the emergency call switch in the washroom as he struggles to get her up from the floor. "I need assistance in Room 1233P," he calls out as a disembodied voice asks what his emergency is. "I need medical assistance in Room 1233P."

Joe manages to get her up and into the bed, rolling her onto her right side as he observed Dr. Edson do previously. He sees the call button by her bed has already been activated but he presses it several times again.

Stirling continues to retch, her body becoming rigid with each stomach contraction. He smoothes back some of her hair that has come loose from her ponytail back from her face, which feels feverish. He bangs his fist against the call button repeatedly.

Suddenly, a nurse comes swiftly through the door and takes over, talking soothingly to Stirling, trying to make her follow a breathing pattern. She tries but the retching continues. When Dr. Edson finally comes through the door, Joe feels a wave of relief. She speaks swiftly to the nurse, who quickly leaves the room.

"What happened?" Dr. Edson asks Joe as she examines Stirling, who continues to make choking and retching sounds, unable to control herself. "I came back from escorting my brother out of the hospital and I found her on the washroom floor retching like she is now. I managed to get her off the floor and into the bed, rolling her onto her right side. But it's not helping."

The doctor checks the toilet in the loo. "The vomiting has obviously started again. She's lost all of her dinner plus the majority of liquid supplementation she has taken orally in the last few hours." She pauses for a moment. "I haven't really wanted to go the medication route but I'm running out of options. I'm going to give her an injection of antihistamine combined with some Vitamin B6 to see if we can stop the vomiting. If we can get that under control, I'll have her fitted with a nasogastric tube down into her stomach and have her gravity fed. If we can't control the vomiting, we'll have to use a nasojejunal tube that threads through the stomach and into the small intestine. She won't be able to vomit up her feedings.

"No!" Stirling manages to gasp out, shaking her head emphatically as she continues to retch.

"Dr. Aylesworth, I've tried the less intrusive treatments and they're not working. We have to take a different approach. You're continuing to have issues keeping food down and you are still losing weight. If this continues, it will have detrimental affects on your health and could affect the development of your baby. You know this."

Stirling looks desperately at Joe and continues shaking her head. "Is there anything else you can try before you stick this tube into her stomach?" he asks.

Dr. Edson shakes her head. "Hopefully the pharmaceutical route will control the vomiting but we need to get nutritional supplementation into her. The IV and electrolytes can only do so much. She needs something a bit more substantive in her system to support herself and the baby."

Joe looks conflicted but nods her head. "Do what you have to do, doctor," he says softly, watching Stirling close her eyes in defeat.

The nurse comes in with multiple vials of medicine, which Dr. Edson prepares into several syringes. She approaches Stirling, who looks resigned to her fate, holding still for the doctor. In less than 30 seconds, both syringes are administered.

"We'll give those a minute or two to work. I also included a muscle relaxant, in hopes of stopping the vomiting reflex, and a mild sedative to help her relax while we insert the tubing. Hopefully, it will also help her get some sleep tonight.

The medication is already starting to work as Stirling's attacks of retching became fewer with larger stretches in between. Her eyes also became heavier, even though she fights hard to keep them open.

In five minutes, the retching has stopped and Stirling is incredibly groggy, unable to speak properly or keep her eyes open for longer than a second or two.

The nurse has already arranged the items Dr. Edson needs to insert the nasogastric tube. "You might want to wait outside," the doctor suggests to Joe. "Some people have issues watching a tubal insertion into a loved one."

"I'm fine," he responds, leaning against the wall out of the nurse and doctor's way.

It takes about 10 minutes for Dr. Edson to measure the proper length of tubing required and insert it up Stirling's nose, down her throat and into her stomach. They adhere the tubing to her nose and up the side of her face, connecting it to a large bag of thick, light brown coloured liquid.

"We're going to start with gravity feeding," Dr. Edson explains to Joe. "If that doesn't have as quick an effect as we want, we'll move to a pump feeding system."

Joe looks sadly at Stirling, feeling guilty for the role he's played in the development and progression of her illness.

"She's going to feel uncomfortable when she wakes up and she might try to pull out the tube. Don't let her. Call for a nurse immediately. If she fights it too much, we might have to keep her sedated for a few days."

Joe feels a tear slide down his cheek and he angrily brushes it away.

"Sergeant, we tried all of the normal treatments and nothing was working. This is the least intrusive treatment of the therapies left for us to use. This is far better than inserting a feeding tube through her stomach wall."

Joe nods his head, shaking Dr. Edson's hand. "I'm just glad you were still here," he says.

She smiles. "I had gone home but one of my mothers went into labour early." She glances at her watch. "Actually, I should go check on her now. Goodnight Sergeant. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

Joe turns off the main overhead light in the room and walks over to the far side of Stirling's bed. He strips off his shirt and trousers, climbing into the bed beside her. As he cuddles her close to his body, he reaches out to kiss her cheek. "I love you," he whispers, his heart aching as he lies his head down and closes his eyes.


	23. Chapter 23

As Stirling begins to awake, she can feel something strange in her nose. Actually, her nose really hurts. Her throat is also dry and, when she swallows, she experiences a strange scratchy feeling in her throat.

She reaches up and realizes she has a nasogastric tube going into her nose and it's been taped to the side of her face.

_I need this out,_ she thinks, reaching up to pull it out. But a hand stops her. "Don't touch it," whispers Joe, who is lying beside her in bed. "You have to keep it in. That's what's feeding you right now."

"I don't like it," she says shrilly, trying to remove her hand from his grip. "It's stinging my nose and I feel like I'm going to gag."

"Just relax," he says. "I don't want to have to call the nurse."

"Are you threatening me, Joe Penhale?" she asks angrily, pushing the call button herself. When the nurse arrives, Stirling demands the nasogastric tube be removed.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Aylesworth, but it's staying in for the next few days; Dr. Edson's orders."

"I feel like I'm choking. I want it out."

"That feeling will go away; you'll get accustomed to it," the nurse explains calmly. "You might have the odd nosebleed but nothing too bad."

Stirling can feel her panic mounting. "I want it out!" she says, hysteria edging her voice. "I feel like I can't breath. Get it out!"

Joe talks to her softly, trying to calm her but her breathing becomes more laboured and agitated as she fights to free her arms, trying to reach the tube so she can remove it herself. He watches sadly as the nurse injects a sedative into her arm. He holds her close and kisses her cheek as she nods off again, still muttering about wanting the tube out.

"Thanks for your help, Sergeant. I'm sorry I had to do that," the nurse says, disposing of the used syringe. "She'll probably be out for a few hours if there's anything you need to do."

Joe hunts through Stirling's luggage, picking out a clean T-shirt and shorts before walking down to the guest shower. Ten minutes later, he walks out feeling clean, refreshed and looking like he's ready to go for a run. He throws his dirty uniform into the travel case.

With a sigh, he settles into his chair beside Stirling's bed and watches her sleep, his eyes occasionally measuring how much liquid is left in the feeding bag hanging above her bed.

Later in the morning, Joe's surprised when Dr. Ellingham stops by dressed in his surgical scrubs. "I was called in for an emergency surgery and I thought I'd stop to see how Dr. Aylesworth is doing."

He takes in the nasogastric tube and feeding bag plus Stirling's unconscious state. "Not well, by the look of things."

He snatches up her chart and flips through it as Joe watches her sleep. The Doc grunts as he reads, shaking his head occasionally. "They put the tube in last night?" he asks. Joe nods. "And they've had to sedate her twice already?" Joe nods again.

"Idiot!" the Doc grumbles, putting the chart back in its place. "If I see Dr. Edson, I'll suggest she move to pump feeding. The gravity system will take too long; she'll need to be sedated for more than a week if any improvement's to be seen."

The Doc lifts the blankets at the end of the bed, examining Stirling's legs, much to Joe's surprise and shock. "She needs to be wearing anti-embolism compression stockings," he says. "They help guard against deep-vein thrombosis."

He presses the nurse call button. "Why isn't this patient wearing compression stockings?" he asks her harshly when she arrives. "She's been on bed rest for several days, is receiving limited exercise and is currently sedated. She needs to be wearing anti-embolism compression stockings to protect against deep vein thrombosis. See to it now."

"Yes doctor," the nurse says, rushing from the room.

The Doc turns to take in Joe's rather haggard appearance. "Getting much sleep?"

"A bit," Joe says. "I usually wake up when she moves. It takes a while to get comfortable and back to sleep again."

The Doc nods. "How long have you been here?

"I was here most of Sunday and they called me Monday afternoon. Even though both you and I warned them, she disappeared from the ward. I've been here since, watching her. I'm supposed to go back to work tomorrow but I don't want to leave her."

The nurse returns to the room with the required stockings and the Doc supervises while she puts them on Stirling. He grunts after examining the fit. "They'll do," he says, allowing the nurse to scamper out of the room.

The Doc stands there for a moment, watching Stirling before clearing his throat awkwardly. "I think you should go home and get some rest, Penhale," he says. "There's not much you can do here now that she's been sedated. The nurses will take care of her."

Joe's silent for a moment, watching her sleep. "I don't know if I can leave her."

The Doc grunts. "If you change your mind, I can give you a ride back to Portwenn. I'll be here for the next hour. You can have me paged at the front desk."

Joe nods. "Thanks."

The Doc quietly turns and walks out the door.

Joe leans back in his chair and folds his hands across his stomach. He closes his eyes and tries to relax.

* * *

Christopher can tell Michael is very close to the breaking point. He can usually predict when a meltdown's approaching based on how his partner strokes and fusses with his Old Etonian tie, a fairly constant fixture around his neck.

"We'll be there soon," Christopher says soothingly, patting Michael's upper right thigh, which is vibrating in rhythm with his bouncing foot. "Just a few more miles and we'll see the village."

Michael glances at him and gives a stiff smile. Travelling is not one of his favourite past times. Any trip longer than two hours leaves him antsy and twitching like a live cow in a butcher shop. When trips become as lengthy as the one from London to Portwenn, he usually needs to be sedated. Or allowed frequent breaks to stretch his legs. He's actually handling this trip better than he expected. At the three-hour point, he was still fairly relaxed. At four hours, the twitching began and they were required to stop for a 30-minute break. He knows it's not much longer but he's still finding it hard to remain in control.

"There you are, Sir; I can see the village from here," says Leyland from the driver's seat of the vintage Bentley Continental S3.

Michael leans forward and stares through the front windshield, catching a glimpse of a church spire ahead. In less than a minute, they are descending the first hill into Portwenn. The large car pulls into the police station car park at the bottom and stops near the front door of the residential side of the building.

Leyland steps out and smoothly opens the rear passenger door, allowing Michael to escape his backseat prison. As he stretches and cracks his back, Christopher bunches over and climbs out the same side as Michael.

"You know, I'm beginning to like that smell," Michael says, taking a deep breath of the sea air. "I think I'm beginning to acquaint it with Ling Ling."

Christopher steps over to the front door and raps smartly. He gazes at the desolate beach across the road while he waits. After a minute, he raps his knuckles loudly again. Still no answer. He cups his hands around his eyes and peers in through a window, trying to see if he can spot any signs of life. Nothing moves within.

"Where the hell can they be?" he asks Leyland, puzzled. Stirling knew they were expected Wednesday afternoon, Boxing Day. She had said they would be home. The Triumph is parked neatly beside the station but the police Land Rover is missing.

"Maybe there was an emergency, Sir," says Leyland. "I think I should drive you to the pub and get you both settled in your room. We can check back later to see if they are home."

He holds the door for both men to climb back into the car, Michael muttering curse words under his breath.

Leyland drives the Bentley further into Portwenn, parking along the high street near The Crab and Lobster. After helping Michael and Christopher from the vehicle, he quickly gathers some bags from the vehicle's large boot, following the two men into the pub.

"Mr. Aubrey, Dr. Bond, it's good to see you again. And you too, Mr. Leyland," says Ben, the barkeep. "I have your rooms all ready." He hands two sets of room keys to Leyland, who starts climbing the stairs with his first load of luggage.

"Can I pour you a drink, gentlemen?"

Michael looks around the pub, which isn't as full as he would expect it to be for late afternoon on Boxing Day. "Do you have any of the games on?"

Ben gestures with his thumb over his shoulder. "Telly's been set up in the other room; more space."

Michael nods his head. "We'll have the usual," he says, reaching into his suit jacket for his wallet.

"So that's a single malt Scotch, neat, and a vodka martini, shaken not stirred, correct?"

"Perfect," says Michael, searching through his wallet.

"Don't worry Mr. Aubrey, I'll charge it to your room," says Ben.

"Thank you, my good man," Michael says, pocketing his wallet and grasping his Scotch. He and Christopher walk into the back room and are met by a crowd of rowdy villagers and fishermen, all assembled around a large flat screen TV, yelling and waving as they watch a football game. The two men manage to find a high table well back from the viewing action and settle down to enjoy their drinks.

"I don't know where Ling-Ling could be," Christopher says as he sips his martini. "She said they would be home. She's not one to go off and forget things. If there was an emergency, she would have left us a note."

"Don't get your knickers in a knot," says Michael, enjoying his Scotch as he squints at the TV well across the room. "I'm sure Panda's fine."

It takes Leyland two trips to get all of the necessary luggage up to the rooms. He spends the next 30 minutes unpacking Michael and Christopher's toiletries, personal items and clothing, ensuring everything is wrinkle and lint free. Once he's finished in their room, he moves over to his own, organizing his belongings. About 40 minutes later, he descends the stairs, noting that Michael and Christopher are working on their third round of drinks.

He approaches the pub bar and requests his usual pint of Guinness. As he waits for Ben to pull it, he looks around the front area of the pub, noticing a table containing a very familiar face. With his glass in hand, he approaches the family group, tipping his hat in greeting. "Pardon me for interrupting your meal but I do believe you are Miss Emily, Miss Stirling's older sister, am I correct?"

Emily looks up at the impeccably dressed white haired gentleman and smiles. "Yes, I am."

"I'm Leyland, I work for Michael Aubrey and Dr. Christopher Bond, friends of Miss Stirling."

"Leyland, yes, I remember you," says Emily with a smile. "I think you drove Stirling home for a visit once quite a few years back. I'm still trying to get that stain out of the parlour rug put there by Michael during that disastrous fencing foil meets bottle of red wine incident."

"Yes, I recall it well," says Leyland, lowering his eyes in embarrassment. "I was hoping you might be able to help. On our way into the village, we called in at the police station and neither Miss Stirling or Sergeant Penhale were in residence. They were expecting us and Mr. Michael and Mr. Christopher are curious about their whereabouts."

Emily looks at Leyland with wide eyes. "No one contacted you?"

"No Miss Emily."

"Stirling is in the hospital in Truro with a very bad stomach flu. I believe Joe is there with her helping take care of her. She had a fainting episode Sunday on the high street, just in front of the pub. It turns out she was dehydrated from vomiting so much. She was taken to hospital by ambulance."

Leyland pales at this information. "Oh dear!"

"She was admitted Sunday. We were up to visit her Monday morning. We were hoping to get there again today but we had some issues with the Land Rover."

"You have the Sergeant's vehicle?"

"Yes."

"Please excuse me, Miss Emily. I need to inform Mr. Michael and Mr. Christopher of the situation."

He tips his hat to them again and glides swiftly over to the other side of the pub.

"There you are Leyland," says Michael jovially. "Everything to your liking and squared away upstairs?"

"Yes, Sir. I was just speaking with Miss Stirling's sister, Miss Emily. It appears that Miss Stirling has fallen ill and is currently in the hospital in Truro. Sergeant Penhale is with her."

"What?" cries Christopher, looking alarmed. "Ling-Ling's in the hospital?"

"Yes, Sir."

"What's wrong with Panda?" demands Michael.

"Miss Emily mentioned something about a stomach flu. It appears Miss Stirling has been vomiting excessively and has become dehydrated."

"We have to go see her," says Christopher anxiously.

"Have you drank any of that?" Michael asks, pointing at Leyland's pint of Guinness.

"None yet, Sir."

"Good," he says, grabbing the glass and setting it in front of one of the fishermen sitting at the pub bar. "Let's go."

* * *

"Joe!" he hears faintly. Somebody shakes his shoulder. "Joe!"

He startles awake, flailing out with his arms, connecting with flesh.

"Owww!" Sam yells, grabbing his nose and backing away from Joe's chair. He wiggles the cartilage back and forth, flinching, and glares up at his younger brother. "You bastard! You just punched me in the nose!"

"Well, what do you expect when you startle a highly trained police officer who's just resting his eyes for a moment," Joe yells back.

"Right!" Sam scoffs. "We could hear you snoring when we turned the corner down the hall."

"That's enough boys," says a familiar female voice.

Joe looks to the other side of the hospital bed and sees his mother sitting in a visitor's chair. He looks at Sam. "What's she doing here?" he demands.

"Well, you didn't phone this morning like you said you were going to," explains Sam. "And when we tried to contact you on your mobile, all we reached was voice mail. So, we thought we would come to you."

Joe jumps up and reaches for his mobile on the bedside table. "It's dead," he says. "And I have no way to charge it."

He checks Stirling while he's up, noting the gravity-fed apparatus has been replaced with a pump. She's still sedated.

Sam looks at her as well. "What the hell happened to Stirling?" he asks in a shocked voice, looking up at Joe.

"We had a set back last night," he says, sinking back into his chair with an exhausted sigh. "After I walked you to the main door, I came back to the room and found her lying on the floor of the loo, retching. She'd already vomited up everything in her stomach. I managed to get her back into bed but she just kept retching. She couldn't stop."

"Cor blimey!" says Sam.

"Her doctor decided on a new approach to control the vomiting but Stirling didn't agree and this morning decided to exert her own medical opinion by trying to pull out the feeding tube. She's now being kept sedated."

Sam looks at Stirling wide-eyed, surprised by how much her condition has changed in 12 hours. "I'm so sorry, Joe," he says, turning to his brother. He walks over and puts his hand on his shoulder.

Joe leans forward in his chair with his head in his hands. "We're supposed to get married in 10 days," he says.

"And you will," says his mother quietly.

Joe slowly lifts his head and looks over at her. "What do you mean? Look at her! She's not even conscious. Do you really think she's going to be able to walk down the aisle in 10 days?"

"I know the spitfire who put me in my place yesterday would be able to," she says with a sad smile. "I haven't had anyone give me a dressing down like that in years. It was very refreshing. She's nothing like that other woman you married. This girl's not a quitter. She's so stubborn, I don't even think she knows the meaning of the word."

"She made me stop and think about my behaviour toward you, really think about it," she adds, looking over at Joe. "I have treated you horribly and it's inexcusable. But I'd like to try to explain."

She takes a big breath, looking even older than her actual years. "You've always looked so much like your father, Joe. Even when you were a little boy, I'd look at you and see him. When he left us, it broke my heart. And when I looked at you, I felt such pain that, after a while, I felt like I couldn't have you around. Your Gran and Gramps helped out as much as they could, taking you and Sam during holidays and school breaks. But when they passed away, it was just the three of us again. And I found that when things went wrong, I would take it out on you, Joe. I punished you because you looked like your father. Then when you grew up, you even became a police constable like him."

Both Joe and Sam look at her in amazement. "Da was a copper?" asks Sam.

"He was when I first met him, before life and the drink beat him down." She looks at Joe. "I'm very sorry, Joe, for the way I have behaved toward you and yours. I treated you horribly, I treated your first wife just as bad and I was on my way to repeating my behaviour with Stirling before she stopped me and made me think. I know you will likely never forgive me and I will never be able to make it up to you. I just hope you can find it in your heart to allow me to attend your wedding and maybe have a small part in your life."

Joe is silent, completely gobsmacked by his mother's words and the radical change in her behaviour. He's actually speechless.

"You have my blessing to attend our wedding," a voice croaks from the hospital bed. "But if you dare pick on my Joe, I'll throw you out myself."

"Stirling!" Joe cries, rushing to the bed and gripping her arms, fearful she'll try to rip out the feeding tube again.

"Don't worry," she says, smiling tiredly at him. "I'm not going to touch it. I promise."

He looks her in the eyes and lets go of her, trusting her word.

"Can you help me up?" she asks him softly. He helps raise the bed and fluff her pillows behind her. "Thank you, Joe. I'd also love a drink of ice water. My throat is so sore."

"I'll ask the nurse if it's okay," he says, moving toward the door, but Sam stops him. "It's alright Joe, I'll ask. You stay with Stirling," he says, walking out the door and down the hall to the nurses' station.

"I'm glad you apologized and explained things to Joe," Stirling says to Edna.

"I'm glad you verbally berated me and pushed me toward seeing the truth," Edna says.

Sam walks back in with a jug of ice water and a plastic cup, followed by a nervous nurse gripping a syringe.

"Please don't," Stirling croaks, flinching from the needle. "I promise I'll behave. I'm begging you, don't put me under again. The dreams are too freaky."

The nurse stops and looks her in the eyes, frowning. "I'll hold off for now. But if there's any trouble from you, I won't hesitate to use this."

"I know you won't," Stirling says dryly, her throat craving some soothing swallows of ice water.

Joe pours her a cup and gives it to her, noting her trembling hands. "Here, let me help," he says, steadying the tumbler as she lifts the contents to her parched lips and takes a gulp. "Drink it slowly," he reminds her. "You don't want to honk it back up."

"Yes, Nurse Penhale," she quips, making Sam snort.

"That will be the day," the ward nurse mutters, walking out of the room.

Joe smiles. "I see your sense of humour has returned. How's your stomach feeling?"

"Full," she says. "No nausea, no rolling, no cramping. Just full."

"Good. Is the water helping your throat?"

"A little. It's still pretty sore."

"We'll have to talk to Dr. Edson about that when she comes to see you later. The Doc dropped by earlier to see how you were."

"The Chief?" Stirling says, surprised. "I had a dream about him. He was chastising me about self assessment and lecturing me about fighting another doctor's treatment plan." She smiles. "And of course he was able to call me an idiot a few times. It felt so real."

Joe pours her another cup of ice water and hands it to her before climbing up on the bed beside her. He puts his arm around her and kisses her cheek. "I'm so happy to see you conscious, talking and sitting up."

As she slowly sips her water, Stirling hears loud voices echoing from the hallway. "It's down here, I know it is," she hears a familiar voice say. "How the hell would you know?" a cranky voice answers back. "All these damn halls look the same. I swear we've been this way before." A calm voice takes over. "I do believe the room is just ahead on the right, Sirs."

"Oh. My. God." she says quietly. "Everyone brace yourselves for the onslaught that is Michael Aubrey and Christopher Bond."

Within seconds, Christopher jogs into the room, gives a shout of joy, and wraps his arms around Stirling. "Ling-Ling, I was fussing and fretting the whole way here," he says, kissing her cheek. He steps back and gasps. "Look at you! What have they done to you? Is that a nasogastric tube and feeding pump?" He looks up at Joe with concern.

"Where's my Panda?" a gruff voice asks, pushing past Christopher to get to Stirling. He flinches when he sees her. "My god woman! You look like complete crap!"

"Thank you so much, Michael. I can always count on you not to pull any punches and tell me the truth."

Bringing up the rear is a large walking flower arrangement. "Is that you Leyland behind that mass of foliage?" Stirling asks.

"Yes, Miss Stirling," he says, his voice muffled slightly by the flowers. "Is there somewhere you would like me to set this?"

Sam helps him and together they place the arrangement on a small table by the the loo. "It's beautiful," says Stirling with a smile. "Thank you so much Leyland."

Michael coughs conspicuously. "Actually, it's from all three of us."

Stirling tries very hard not to laugh, considering the condition her throat is in. "Then thank you too Michael and Christopher. And from the smell of things, I'm very honoured you were able to pull yourselves away from the pub to come down and visit me in the hospital. I'd say you must have been three or four rounds in before you came to that decision."

Christopher blushes. "We stopped at the police station on the way into town but you weren't there. We didn't even know you were in the hospital until Leyland talked with your sister. We'd already been in the pub for about an hour by then."

"No one contacted you to let you know?" Stirling asks, looking at Joe.

"Hey, as I recall, I was here busy keeping you from wandering off the ward," he reminds her.

She smiles at Michael, Christopher and Leyland. "I'm just glad you made it safely to Cornwall."

"But what are you doing in here, especially hooked up to that machine?" Christopher asks, gesturing toward the feeding pump.

"I have some kind of stomach infection," she says vaguely. "It might be parasitic. Anyway, I've been vomiting a lot and have become dehydrated and malnourished. I can't seem to keep anything down. So, I've been put on anti-nausea medication, a supplemented saline IV and a feeding machine in hopes of bringing my system back under control."

Christopher looks at her skeptically. This ambiguous description of her illness is not Stirling's style at all. He's always known her as an articulate and thorough diagnostician, loving nothing more than to bang on and on about exacting symptoms, prognosis, mortality rates, and treatment plans. _What's going on here?_

Stirling notices Christopher's suspicious glance and goes for distraction. "Is the drive down from London still as horrible, Michael?" she teases.

"Absolutely dreadful," he says, shuddering. "Actually, it was almost as bad as you look."

Joe glares at the barrister while Stirling laughs painfully. "If I start vomiting blood, I'm blaming you, Michael," she wheezes.

As Joe helps her drink more water, Leyland turns to Sam and extends his hand. "How do you do? I'm Leyland and these are my my employers, Mr. Michael Aubrey, Esquire, and Dr. Christopher Bond. We're close friends of Miss Stirling's. And you are?"

"Sam Penhale," he answers, shaking Leyland's hand firmly. "I'm Joe's older brother. And this is our mum, Edna Penhale."

Leyland tips his hat to her, bows slightly and clicks his heels together, making Stirling smile at his overly formal display. "A pleasure to meet you, miss," he says.

Edna laughs, shocking both Joe and Sam who haven't heard such a carefree, happy sound come from her mouth in years. "Aren't you a smooth talking devil," she says. "I haven't been a miss in several decades."

Soon everyone is shaking hands and introducing themselves and generally causing a big fuss. No one even notices Dr. Edson enter the room until a shrill whistle cuts through the cacophony. Silence is immediate and every head turns toward the white haired, petite doctor.

"I would like everyone to clear this room except for my patient and Sergeant Penhale." She notices Michael begin to open his mouth and reach into his suit jacket pocket. "Everyone!" she says in such a tone that Michael immediately shuts his mouth and leaves.

Slowly and quietly, everyone files out of the room. Christopher blows Stirling a kiss as he exits, shutting the door behind him.

"There never seems to be a dull moment in this room," says Dr. Edson, approaching the hospital bed. "Which might explain my patient's fluctuating state of health. I see you're awake, sitting up and behaving. That's good to see. How are you feeling?"

The doctor begins to take her vitals as Stirling describes the state of her stomach plus her stinging nose and incredibly sore throat.

"No nausea? No retching?" Dr. Edson asks, listening to her gut sounds with her stethoscope.

"No," says Stirling, shaking her head.

"That sounds hopeful. The antihistamine and B6 combination appears to be working. I'm going to switch you over to an oral form; a bit easier to administer than an injection. We'll see if the promising results continue. Now, let's look at that throat," she says, having Stirling open her mouth so she can shine the beam from a small torch down it. The doctor makes a deep grunting sound very similar to the Doc's. "That looks very sore, very inflamed and possibly moving toward infected. I'll give you a short course of antibiotics to see if we can stop it before it becomes worse. I'll also give you an anaesthetic spray you can squirt down there to dull the pain."

Stirling looks at Dr. Edson with apprehension. "I'd like to know if any of the medication you have administered to me to date can have any adverse effects on the baby," she says quietly.

The doctor gives her a reassuring smile. "Antihistamines and B6 are commonly prescribed to pregnant women experiencing vomiting issues similar to yourself. Side effects for the baby are rarely seen and the risks of not treating the issue far outweigh the risks associated with the medication. The sedative I gave you was a very mild one and will have no lasting effect. The antibiotics I'm going to prescribe to you are well tested with no recorded dangers for the fetus. And the anaesthetic spray is topical and non-systemic; it will not be travelling anywhere else in your body."

She pats one of Stirling's hands. "Feeling relieved?"

"Yes, thank you," Stirling says. "I'd also like to know how much longer you think I'm going to be in hospital?"

Dr. Edson considers the question for a moment. "I'd like to see you gain at least half a stone before I discharge you. If the medication continues controlling the vomiting, which I'm optimistic it will, and everything goes as planned, I can see you going home early next week. That's still before the new year."

Stirling closes her eyes in disappointment and sighs. _Five more days!_ she thinks. "If it's the best I can expect, I can live with that."

She reaches out and grabs Joe's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. _She might just make it down that aisle on schedule_, he thinks, a sense of happiness spreading throughout his body. Or maybe it's exhaustion. He doesn't know and doesn't really care. Stirling is on the mend.


	24. Chapter 24

On Monday morning, New Year's Eve day, Stirling sits on the edge of her hospital bed, enjoying the feel of regular clothing again. No more nasogastric tube, no more compression stockings, no more shorts, no more novelty T-shirts – although she did enjoy entertaining the nurses with the cheeky messages. She is dressed like a healthy human being again, not a patient.

She sits patiently, waiting for Dr. Edson to check on her one last time before signing her discharge papers. She knows it's merely a formality; she's no longer dehydrated, her electrolytes are back in balance, she's gained more than half a stone, is back eating solid food again, and hasn't experienced vomiting or feelings of nausea since she started on the antihistamine and B6 treatment regime. She's also leaving armed with a page full of instructions she needs to follow: no more skipping meals or having three per day, instead she's required to consume small meals every few hours; in the morning, she needs to snack on crackers or biscuits before getting out of bed; there's a minimum volume of liquid, preferably milk and water, she needs to drink every day; she's to consume no caffeine in any form, including chocolate; she's been encouraged to eat foods seasoned with ginger; she's also required to take extra strength doses of prenatal vitamins and folic acid, and drink at least one meal supplement per day until her weight reaches an acceptable level. She also needs to be seen by a doctor or midwife at least once every two weeks to monitor her pregnancy's progress. Four weeks before her due date, the visits will become weekly or possibly even twice per week, depending on her and the baby's health.

Stirling is discovering that being pregnant is like having a second full-time job.

She's just glanced at her watch for the tenth time in five minutes when Dr. Edson walks through the doorway.

"Dr. Aylesworth, I'm sure you're looking forward to seeing the last of this place, for a few months at least," she says with a smile.

"No offence Dr. Edson but yes I am."

"I was reviewing your chart before signing the discharge papers and noticed you still don't have an obstetrician, GP or midwife listed for monitoring your pregnancy. Is there a problem?"

"The doctor I was hoping to have monitor me is shifting from general practice to full-time surgery," she explains. "I have contacted obstetricians in my area but they have full patient rosters and waiting lists plus obviously prefer to specialize in high risk pregnancies. There is a midwife in the area; I might contact her."

"If you like, I can refer you to an obstetrician in Wadebridge I know. She's very skilled, professional but also approachable. I think you two would get along well. Plus, since you've been diagnosed with hyperemesis gravidarum, your pregnancy is now considered high risk."

"It has?" asks Stirling, with a hint of disappointment, already knowing the answer to her question. "Of course it has," she mutters.

"I hope you didn't have your heart set on a home birth because that will no longer be possible," explains Dr. Edson. "All high risk pregnancies deliver here at Truro, where Dr. Olivia Silva also has privileges. Would you like me to set up the referral and forward your records to her clinic?"

"Yes, that would be most helpful. Thank you."

"She'll probably want to set up an initial consultation with you fairly soon."

"I'm getting married this coming Saturday and then I will be away on my honeymoon for a fortnight," explains Stirling. "Unless she can see me in the next four days, it will have to wait until late January."

"I'll let the clinic know this when I send in the referral. So, you have your medications, your vitamins and your list of instructions?" asks Dr. Edson with a smile.

"Yes, everything," says Stirling.

"Then this is goodbye," the doctor says, extending her hand. "Best of luck Dr. Aylesworth and congratulations on your upcoming wedding," she adds as they shake hands.

"Thank you."

"Is Sergeant Penhale coming to pick you up?"

"No, he's working today. I have friends coming to get me. They should be here soon."

"Good." And with that, Dr. Edson is out the door and on her way to her next patient visit.

A few minutes later, Stirling smiles as she hears Michael and Christopher's voices echoing down the hall, the pair bickering over whether they were heading in the right direction or not. They actually pass by her room before realizing their mistake and coming back.

"There's my beautiful girl," says Christopher, giving her a hug and a kiss.

"This place is like the Cretan Labyrinth," Michael gripes as he strides into the room. "Every time I turn a corner, I expect to run into the Minotaur."

"I'd much rather run into Theseus," quips Christopher, picking up Stirling's rucksack, shoving it at Michael to carry. "We need to hurry; Leyland is illegally parked at the maternity emergency entrance and I don't know how long he can hold off the security guard with Irish jokes."

Stirling easily leads them back through the maze of hallways to the main entrance where she is surprised to see a small crowd of people has gathered. She smiles as she exits the hospital to find Leyland leaning against the bonnet of the Bentley entertaining about four security guards. Another five men, obviously fathers visiting their wives and newborn babies, are busy admiring the vehicle. Leyland has obviously reached the punchline of a joke at that moment as the security guards all start laughing. As soon as he sees Stirling, he tips his hat to the assembled group.

"Gentlemen, it's time for me to earn me keep," he says, walking swiftly to the rear passenger side door and opening it for Stirling, holding out his arm to help her into the vehicle. He then moves to the driver's side rear door, opening it for Christopher and Michael, grabbing Stirling's rucksack as Michael ducks into the backseat. Leyland quickly walks to the back of the vehicle and opens the boot, setting the rucksack gently inside.

As he settles behind the wheel, Leyland waves to his four new friends and ensures the other men have moved out of the way before he starts up the vehicle and drives off.

"You always amaze me, Leyland," Stirling says as they pull out of the hospital car park onto the roadway. "You collect friends wherever you go."

"It's the Irish charm, Miss," he says.

She sits back against the buttery leather seats and relaxes with a big sigh. "I am so glad to be free of that place," she says. "It's strange. I used to work in a hospital day in and day out. I loved the order, the sameness, the busyness, even the institutional smell. But since I've discovered the medical world outside of its walls, it just doesn't appeal to me anymore. I love the chaos, the variety, the laid-back feeling of Portwenn and the villagers and the surgery. When I'm away from it, I miss it."

Christopher smiles at her and gives her hand a squeeze, pulling her towards him so her head rests on his shoulder. She closes her eyes and smiles.

"Speaking of the surgery, I received correspondence from your Chief's solicitor," Michael says, crossing his legs and gripping his knee.

Stirling is instantly sitting upright, leaning forward so she can see Michael around Christopher. "And?"

"I know this is supposed to be a celebratory time when we gather as friends, get rat arsed, tell embarrassing stories and honour you and your Sergeant's nuptials but I have brought some paperwork with me for you to sign. Your Chief has accepted your offer and terms. By the end of January, the surgery will belong to you and Joe."

"Aces!" shouts Stirling, throwing herself across Christopher's lap so she can hug Michael and give him a kiss on the cheek. "I love you, you pansy nancy boy!"

"And I love you right back, you silly manky tart," Michael says gruffly, hugging her in return.

Christopher grunts in pain as Stirling grinds her knees into his lap as she reaches to hug Michael. "That's enough, mates," he groans. "Stirling is putting my twig and berries through a grinding."

She gasps and settles back down in her seat, giving Christopher a hug and a kiss as well. "I'm sorry Christy. I love my Mr. Bond too."

He smiles proudly and hugs her close. "I'm so happy for you Ling-Ling."

She cuddles close beside Christopher again, closes her eyes, and sighs. By the end of January, she's going to be in possession of her very own surgery; be married to the man she loves; and she'll be more than half way through the pregnancy. _Busy times,_ she thinks.

With Christopher's arm around her and a smile on her face, she falls asleep.

* * *

"Stirling, you're home. We're in Portwenn," Christopher says softly, giving her a gentle shake.

She opens her eyes slowly, focusing on his face and smiling. "Am I home?" She sits up and looks with happiness at the police station. "I'm home!" Before she grab the handle of her door, Leyland has it open for her. She bounces out with a smile and walks around the car to the front door, rushing through the front vestibule into the kitchen. "Hi honey! I'm home!" she cries, throwing wide her arms.

Facing her is Edna, a knife in her hand, frozen in the middle of chopping vegetables on a wooden board as she sits at the kitchen table. She stares at Stirling open mouthed.

"Hello," she says.

"Hiya," says Stirling, blushing. "I'm sorry. I thought Joe might be here." She glances at her watch. "It's close to his usual refreshment break time."

"He and Sam are out on a call," Edna explains, continuing with her chopping. "I'm not sure when they'll be back. There was a motor vehicle accident involving a trailer full of pigs. They're helping with the roundup."

Stirling smiles at the mental image.

"It smells wonderful in here," she says. "What are you cooking?"

"There's a pair of steak and kidney pies baking in the cooker. I made a batch of about a dozen pasties earlier this morning. Right now, I'm cutting up vegetables for some meat pies I'm planning on making next."

"Crickey! You've been busy!"

Just then, Michael and Christopher come through the door with Stirling's bag.

"That smells fantastic!" Michael says with a sigh.

"We came in to give you your rucksack and let you know we're going back to the pub for lunch," say Christopher. "You should get some rest Ling-Ling. You have a busy week ahead of you."

"We'll see you later tonight," says Michael. "You and your Sergeant are coming down to have a drink with us at the pub for New Year's, aren't you? I believe your sister and her family are going to be there plus Sam."

"I don't know. I'll talk to Joe about it when I see him." She gives them both a quick hug. "Hopefully I'll see you later."

"Get some rest, Ling-Ling," Christopher reminds her as he walks out the door.

While Edna continues to cut vegetables, Stirling takes her bag into the laundry area, sorts out her dirty clothes, adds powder and starts the machine. She removes her bag of pharmaceuticals and hangs the empty rucksack on a peg in the front vestibule. She runs her hand over her doctor's bag, which hangs from the next peg. She's missed it.

"You must miss your work," says Edna, looking up at Stirling touching her doctor's bag.

"Yes, I do. I hope to get back to the surgery on Wednesday."

"Wednesday! Don't you think that's a bit soon? You were just discharged from the hospital this morning!"

"I have patients that need me. Things have fallen behind while I've been in the hospital. I have a lot of catching up to do before Saturday."

Edna shakes her head and continues chopping.

Stirling walks upstairs and into the loo to put her pills inside the cabinet above the sink. She checks her watch. She really should have something to eat. She also needs to go to the pharmacy and purchase a case of meal supplement.

Back downstairs, she opens the refrigerator and surveys the contents. It's been well stocked but Stirling is attracted to a bowl of what looks like left over seafood fettuccine. "Can I get you anything to eat?" she asks Joe's mum.

"No, I'm fine," she says, beginning to assemble the meat pies. "I've been snacking all morning."

Stirling heats up the pasta in the microwave and stirs it vigorously before setting the bowl on the kitchen table. She pours herself a glass of milk and sits down to eat.

"You don't have to do this you know," Stirling says, twirling her fettuccine around her fork.

"Do what?"

"All this cooking and baking."

"I enjoy doing it. It's good to have meals planned ahead. You and Joe both have busy lives. This will just make lunch and dinner easier to manage."

Stirling blushes. "Thank you."

Edna looks up and smiles. "You're welcome. It's the least I can do."

Once she's finished her meal, Stirling quickly cleans the dirty dishes and leaves them to air dry. She checks her watch. _Have a rest or go to the pharmacy?_ she considers. _Pharmacy_.

"There are some items I need to pick up at the pharmacy," she explains to Edna as she pulls on a pair of boots and shrugs into her heavy coat. "I shouldn't be very long. Do you need anything while I'm out?"

"Don't you think you should rest? You've been home all of 60 minutes. I can go to the pharmacy for you."

"No, I'll be fine. The fresh air will do me good. I'll rest when I get back. Do you need anything?"

Edna thinks for a moment and shakes her head. "I'm fine."

Stirling practically leaps out the door, excited to be outside in the winter sunshine. She takes a deep breath and starts up the hill toward the centre of the village. She struggles a bit on the climb, resting once to catch her breath. _I'm out of practice_, she thinks sadly. _I'll just have to work back up to it_. The lack of eating and weight loss probably haven't helped either. She stops for a second rest when she gets to the top, deciding to pace herself. _From here it's all down hill_, she thinks. _Until it's time to go home_.

She wonders if she'll have any problem carrying the case of meal supplement back to the station but decides to worry about it when she's actually faced with the challenge. _Maybe I can arrange for someone to deliver it for me?_

As she walks down the hill toward the harbour area, Stirling waves and says hello to the villagers she passes. Most are surprised to see her up and about after being in the hospital for a week. Dr. Ruth Ellingham does a double take as Stirling marches by the window of the small grocery store just as she's paying for her purchases. By the time Ruth rushes out the door with her bags, the young doctor has disappeared. _She should be home resting_, she thinks. _She must be out of her mind._

Mrs. Tishell is also shocked to see Stirling when she enters the pharmacy. "Doctor," she says. "I didn't know you were home."

"Yes, I was just sprung this morning," she says with a smile. "I was wondering if you sell liquid meal supplement by the case?"

Mrs. Tishell explains what flavours she has in stock and the various sizes available. Stirling purchases two cases and asks whether she can have them delivered. "We don't offer that kind of service," the druggist explains.

_Damn_, Stirling thinks. _I know I can't carry those cases back to the station. Maybe Joe or Sam can stop and pick them up later?_

"Can I leave them here for now?" she asks. "Hopefully someone will be by to pick them up before you close."

She's about to ask Mrs. Tishell for extra strength prenatal vitamins and folic acid when she comes to the realization that if she does, her secret will soon be known all across the village. "I was wondering whether my latest order for the surgery has come in?"

"Yes," Mrs. Tishell says. "You're not going to pick it up now, are you?"

"I might as well while I'm here," Stirling says with a shrug. "I was wondering if you could add a large bottle of enhanced prenatal vitamins and a bottle of the highest dosage of folic acid you carry to the order?"

"Certainly," Mrs. Tishell says, gathering up the last minute requests and adding them to the large box of medical supplies she sets on the counter. Stirling stares at it uncertainly. _Am I going to be able to carry that to the surgery?_ She picks it up. _Sure_, she decides.

"Thank you, Mrs. Tishell. I'll be by on Wednesday to settle the bill for the year."

Somehow, Stirling manages to wrestle the bulky box out the pharmacy door and begins walking toward the surgery. She's doing fine until she starts the uphill portion of the walk, quickly becoming breathless, her progress slowing. She stops halfway up to take a rest. _This is embarrassing_, she thinks, leaning against the stone wall at the edge of the road, hoping no one notices her. After a short breather, she continues her climb until she finally reaches the steps to the surgery. She climbs them slowly, resting the box on the next step before progressing upward. Once she's at the top, she kicks the box with her feet to the front door. _I don't have my bloody keys!_ she suddenly realizes, cursing in her head.

She slowly reaches out with her hand and tries the door knob. It opens. _Thank god!_ Emily, Robert and the kids have obviously been forgetting to lock the front door. She wonders how many patients have wandered into the middle of their breakfast or lunch. She carefully opens the door and listens. All is quiet. She picks up the box and carries it in, setting it on a waiting room chair while she closes the front door softly. She lifts the box and tiptoes through the waiting room, peeking around the corner into the hallway, looking toward the kitchen. All clear. A few seconds later, she's in the consulting room, the door closed behind her. She sinks into her chair with a sigh, propping her feet up on the desk. She'll just rest for a little while.

* * *

"I can't believe I let you into this vehicle looking like that," says Joe laughing, glancing periodically at Sam as he drives down the hill toward the police station.

"I can't believe you sprayed me with a high power hose!" Sam growls, still feeling the sting of the pressurized cold water on his skin. His clothing is dripping wet, soaking the seat he's sitting on. Even though the heater is on full blast, his teeth are still chattering.

"I'm sorry but after you fell into that pig wallow, you had to be cleaned off before you got in the vehicle. It was the only way I could think of to get it done quickly."

"I think you removed a layer of my skin!"

"Don't be a baby!"

Joe parks the Land Rover in front of the station and climbs out, walking into the office to check for messages. There's none.

Sam walks dripping and stiff-legged in behind him. "You should go have a shower and get changed," Joe suggests, "before you die of pneumonia."

Sam grumbles as he walks past him, entering the residence side of the building through the connecting door. Joe follows behind him.

"My god, what happened to you?" Edna asks, staring at her oldest son.

"Long story," he says, quickly climbing the stairs and slamming the door to the loo.

Joe flinches. "I hope he doesn't wake up Stirling with all that slamming and banging."

His mother looks at him curiously. "She isn't asleep. She isn't upstairs at all."

"Then where is she?" Joe asks, looking around. "Aubrey and Christopher did pick her up from the hospital?"

"Yes, they dropped her off. But she's gone to the pharmacy to pick some items up."

"What!" yells Joe incredulously. "And you just let her go?"

"I suggested she have a rest and she refused. I offered to get the items for her and she refused. She's a grown woman, Joe, who obviously knows her own mind. I couldn't force her not to go."

"She just got out of the bloody hospital!" he says angrily, turning and stomping back through the station and out the door. He climbs in the Land Rover and is soon quickly driving up the hill into Portwenn proper.

He double parks the Land Rover, lights flashing, outside of the pharmacy, quickly running in.

"You must be here for the two cases," Mrs. Tishell says as soon as he comes through the door. Before he can says anything, the druggist is loading the meal supplement boxes into his arms.

"Have you seen Stirling?" he finally manages to bark out.

"Yes. The doctor purchased those two cases of meal supplement and picked up the medical supply order for the surgery."

"The surgery!" Joe turns and rushes out the door, almost colliding with Ruth.

"Joe, just the person I wanted to see," she says. "Why is Stirling wandering about the village? She should be home resting. Didn't she just get out of the hospital this morning?"

"I was wondering the same thing," adds Mrs. Tishell as she follows him outside the pharmacy onto the sidewalk. "I didn't think she looked well enough to be up and about."

Joe opens the driver's side door of the Land Rover, pitches the two cases onto the seat and jumps in after them, squealing his tires as he quickly drives toward the surgery. He comes to a shuddering halt in front of the building, once again blocking the roadway as he jumps out and rushes through the front door.

"Stirling?" Joe shouts, scaring Robert, who is resting in a lounge chair in the piano room. "Stirling?" He strides through the waiting room and opens the consulting room door. It's empty, although a large box of medical supplies sits on top of her desk.

"What the hell is going on?" demands Robert, standing in the middle of the waiting room.

"Have you seen Stirling?" Joe asks, pushing past him to look in the piano room.

"No. I thought she was home resting. Didn't she just get out of the hospital this morning? Why would she be here?"

"Good question," Joe mumbles, walking out the front door.

Robert watches in amazement as Joe swiftly backs the Land Rover down the hill, swinging it around at the bottom before roaring off. "Everyone in this town is crazy," he mutters as he walks back into the surgery, shutting and locking the door behind him.

* * *

Stirling's not quite sure why she decides to take the much longer walking path through the village but she feels very tired by the time she reaches the police station. She notes the Land Rover is still gone.

The kitchen smells fantastic as she enters the front door, pulling off her boots and hanging up her coat. Joe's mother is not at the kitchen table and in fact is nowhere to be seen. Exhausted, Stirling slowly climbs the stairs and walks down the hall. She can hear water running in the loo. _Edna must be taking a shower_, she thinks as she opens the door to the master bedroom, closing it softly behind her.

Downstairs, Edna walks back into the kitchen through the connecting door from the station, closing it behind her. Due to Sam's shower, she's forced to use the facilities in the police station.

She is just settling into the recliner in the lounge when Joe races through the door. "Have you seen Stirling?" he demands.

"You haven't found her?"

"No. I've been to the pharmacy, the surgery. She's not there."

"Well, I haven't seen her," Edna says.

Joe turns and is about to run back out the front door when he stops. Her coat is hanging on the peg, he notices, plus her boots are back against the wall.

He runs back into the kitchen and bounds up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. He pauses briefly to catch his breath before he opens the door to the master bedroom, shutting it quietly behind him. He sags against it with relief when he sees Stirling in bed, snuggled under the covers, asleep.

He's not sure how she's done it but she's managed to visit the pharmacy and surgery without being spotted by him plus beat him back home, all while on foot. If he wasn't so annoyed, he'd laugh. He stands by the door for a moment, calming down, before kicking off his shoes and walking over to the bed. He lies down on top of the covers beside her, still in his uniform.

Joe decides he'll rest beside her for a few minutes before he goes back to work. He kisses Stirling tenderly on the forehead before settling his head back on his pillow, eyes open as he can watches her sleep.


	25. Chapter 25

"Stargazy pie," Stirling says, handing back the menu. "And can you bring a bottle of hot mustard and Worcestershire sauce with it? What kind of fizzy drinks do you have? I'll have a Dr. Pepper and a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Thank you."

It's then she realizes that all talk has ceased at the rowdy table she's seated at in The Crab and Lobster and every eye is on her. It's silent.

"What?" she asks self-consciously.

"Stargazy pie? Hot mustard? Worcestershire sauce?" asks Sam incredulously. "You've just been sprung from the hospital after vomiting nonstop for a week and now you turn around and order the most gut churning combination of food and sauces I've ever heard of."

"What is Stargazy pie?" Roberta asks innocently.

"It's a traditional Cornish fish pie made with whole pilchards," explains Edna. "There's a pastry top and typically the fish heads, and sometimes tails, poke up through it, like they're looking at the stars."

Roberta and Richard look horrified. "So, Aunt Stirling has ordered a pie with dead fish popping out of it?" she asks.

Edna and Sam nod their heads.

"Oh my god! That's so disgusting, Aunt Stirling!" Roberta whines. "How can you eat that?"

"I felt like having fish," Stirling says innocently, shrugging her shoulders.

Michael and Christopher begin laughing uproariously. "This reminds me of that time you ate two helpings of jellied eel at that Cockney restaurant," Michael says through his laughter, pointing at her across the table. "I won £300 that night, thanks to your cast iron stomach. Do you remember that Christy?"

"Weren't we dining with Judge Henry Campbell and his wife that evening?" Christopher asks. "What was her name again? Cinda? Cindy? Cynthia!"

Stirling smiles as she watches her two friends regale the rest of the group at the table, plus half the pub, with the infamous jellied eel story. She's happy to have everyone around her – Emily, Robert, Roberta, Richard, Michael, Christopher, Sam, Edna, Morwenna, Al and, of course, Joe, complete with his hand-held police radio. It's New Year's Eve, time to say goodbye to the old and welcome the new. _I'm surrounded by both old and new_, she thinks. _And I'm keeping them all_. She gazes affectionately at the two men as they play off one another's version of the event. _Aubrey and Christy are just happy they've found a new group of victims they can entertain with stories of their antics._

"You should have seen the expression on Cynthia's face!" Christopher says, laughing. "Stirling just sucked that eel body into her mouth like it was a piece of spaghetti. I have never seen a woman run and weave through a restaurant so quickly in heels as Cynthia Campbell. Unfortunately, she didn't make it to the loo in time. The judge was horrified. I think he had to pay to have the restaurant carpeting cleaned."

Suddenly Stirling can feel warm breath against her right ear. It makes her shiver. "How are you feeling?" whispers Joe.

"Very well, Sergeant," she whispers back. "I believe I'm still feeling the after effects of your amazing welcome home gift to me. It was rather memorable."

Joe turns slightly red. "I'm glad you enjoyed it, Doctor. But actually, I was wondering how your stomach is feeling?"

Stirling smiles and lowers her eyes shyly. "My stomach is feeling fine, although I think it has grown larger again."

Joe reaches under the table with his right hand and tucks it up under her shirt, pushing down the waist of her stretchy trousers at the same time. He softly rubs the skin of her bared belly. "I think you're right," he whispers, kissing her behind the ear.

"I can't believe you two are making out over there and not even listening to our extremely delightful and charming story," says Michael with a snort of disgust.

"You keep forgetting, Aubrey – I lived it. And after you hear it for the tenth or twelfth time, it gets very dull," says Stirling, turning to kiss Joe tenderly.

A chorus of groans is heard around the table. "Not again," yelps Richard, hiding his eyes in mock horror.

"Rent a room," Sam yells, throwing a chunk of dinner roll at them. It hits Joe in the side of the face, making Stirling laugh.

"Please don't let this gathering descend into a food fight," she begs, holding up her hands in defence. "I'm actually rather hungry."

"Yeah, for your fish head pie," laughs Sam. "You be sure to let us know if one of them winks at you Stirling."

Joe leans his head toward her ear again. "Have you ever actually eaten Stargazy pie before?" he asks.

"No," she whispers back. "But I feel strangely compelled to try it. I'm having a craving for fish. And hot mustard."

"Hmmmm," he says, giving her a strange look.

"So little brother," Sam calls from his side of the table, "what antics do you have planned for your stag night?"

"My what?" he asks innocently.

"Your stag night, you wanker," his brother says, laughing. "That evening when we get you completely soused and do embarrassing things to you while watching beautiful women remove their clothing. Oh yeah, and we take lots of photos so we can blackmail you with them later."

"Why am I not liking the sounds of this?" Stirling asks with a laugh.

"Can you discuss this at some other time?" Emily begs. "There are children present at the table."

"Where?" asks Richard, being a smart ass. "What children?"

"I'm 34-years-old and about to be married," Stirling jokes. "I think you can stop thinking of me as a child now."

Robert laughs, flinching as he receives a sharp elbow in the ribs from Emily.

"I wasn't planning on having a stag party," Joe says.

"Sacrilege!" shouts Michael from the far end of the table. "What kind of man are you, Sergeant? You're about to marry Panda. Heavy drinking is definitely required."

"Heavy drinking? Isn't that just a regular weekend for you Aubrey?" Stirling teases.

Michael raises his fourth tumbler of single malt Scotch toward her in a toast. "Touche, darling, touche."

"I'm sorry Joe but you can't get married without a stag party," says Sam. "It's bad enough I don't get to be your best man. At least let me plan the party for you."

"You can hold it here, at The Crab and Lobster," suggests Al.

"Excellent idea!" says Sam. "We can turn the pub into a gentlemen's club for the evening."

"I don't know," says Joe. "I was just thinking of a nice quiet time having a few pints with the guys. I'm not comfortable with the idea of half-naked women."

He gives Stirling a questioning look. She shrugs.

"Morwenna, what do you have planned for our hen party night?" she calls down the table.

"Male strippers," the perky brunette calls back. "The usual fare – a firefighter, a courier, a police constable. And copious amounts of wine, which Louisa and I will be unable to enjoy."

Stirling laughs. "Morwenna, why would I want to watch a man dressed as a police constable strip when I'm about to marry the real thing?"

"I can't believe you are having this conversation in front of children!" Emily complains.

"Well, the stripper will actually be extremely tidy and buff," Morwenna deadpans.

Stirling makes a shocked, gasping noise as everyone else at the table bursts into laughter. She turns to Joe, who looks like he's been physically slapped.

"I can't believe she said that," he says quietly, looking hurt.

"She's just teasing you, Lover Boy," Stirling whispers in his ear. "I think you're extremely tidy and buff. Actually, I think you're rather bang-tidy! And that's all that matters."

She kisses him, leading to more moaning and booing from around the table plus some bread-based missiles, which they both manage to dodge deftly.

"Cease-fire!" Stirling calls, just as two servers approach with their dinners.

As the meals are placed in front of each person, everyone waits in anticipation for Stirling's Stargazy pie to be set before her. Roberta and Richard make quiet retching sounds as the dish is set before their aunt, going silent after they both receive a dirty look from their father. Everyone else just stares as the bottles of hot mustard and Worcestershire sauce are set in front of her plus a glass of Dr. Pepper and a small dish of vanilla ice cream.

"Could I have a pint glass please?" she asks her server, who quickly returns with one.

Everyone watches as she pours her Dr. Pepper into the pint glass, waiting patiently for the foam to dissipate before dumping the scoop of ice cream on top. Christopher actually flinches as she picks up the pint and takes a drink of the weird concoction. She closes her eyes and licks her lips, enjoying the interesting mixture of flavours.

No one has yet touched their own meal as Stirling picks up her fork and dives into her pie, ignoring the four fish heads peeking up at her. She takes a bite and chews. After she swallows, she reaches for the bottle of hot mustard. Everyone gasps as she squeezes a long trail on top of the pie, smoothing out the yellow topping with her fork before taking another bite. She closes her eyes as she chews and actually smiles.

Michael begins chuckling while Roberta and Richard giggle. Everyone else looks slightly ill.

Stirling opens her eyes and realizes they are all staring. "Not again!" she says angrily. "Can't I just eat my dinner without everyone watching? Come on, mates!"

Slowly, Joe scoops into his bangers and mash. Everyone else soon follows his lead although, periodically, one or two glance over at Stirling in disbelief.

"So, what do you say brother?" Sam asks, easily picking up where he left off. "Let me plan your stag bash."

Joe has a feeling he's going to regret it later but he gives in and agrees.

"Yes!" says Sam, obviously excited.

"I can help," Al volunteers.

"We can assist as well," Michael says, volunteering Christopher's services also.

"Count us in," adds Robert, pointing at Richard, who grins as he does a fist pump.

"What!" says Emily sharply, staring at her husband angrily. "He's just a boy!"

"He's 15-years-old. He's old enough to have a pint and enjoy an evening of male bonding and rude rugby songs. And he's definitely not going to spend the evening at a hen party. End of discussion."

Emily is livid, stabbing her fish angrily.

Stirling is half finished her fish pie when she notices the Doc and Louisa enter the pub's dining room. She smiles, waves and stands up as they walk over.

"It's so good to see you," Louisa says giving her a hug. "And eating too." She looks down at her plate with raised eyebrows but says nothing.

"Good evening, Chief," Stirling says formally, shaking hands with the Doc.

"Dr. Aylesworth," he says. "It's a relief to see you healthy again. Penhale," he adds, nodding to Joe. His eyes travel around the table. "Aubrey, Dr. Bond, Sergeant Muncie, Mrs. Muncie." His eyes bounce back to Sam. "Sam Penhale," he says. "I see they finally let you out. I hope you're no longer playing with lead paint."

"No, I'm on the straight and narrow," Sam says. "This is our mum, Edna Penhale. She's in town for the wedding. Mum, this is Dr. Ellingham and his wife, Louisa."

"Mrs. Penhale," the Doc says. Edna nods her head toward him but does not get up.

"Have you come to ring in the New Year?" Stirling asks. "You're welcome to join us if you wish. We can make room."

"No, we are here to have a quiet dinner," he says, looking around the crowded room. "Although I see that might not be possible."

"It's New Year's Eve, Chief," Stirling explains. "People in the village have come out to celebrate."

"I realize that, Dr. Aylesworth. But can't they do it quietly? These people do have homes, don't they?"

Louisa smiles indulgently at Martin and turns her attention back to Stirling. "I have something of yours," she says. "Pablo brought it over when he heard you were in the hospital."

"Oh, thank god!" she says, looking visibly relieved. "I'll be by Wednesday morning on my way to work to pick it up. I'll keep it at the surgery since I'm getting ready there Saturday morning anyway."

"You're returning to work on Wednesday?" ask the Doc and Joe in unison. The two men look at each other, Joe grinning and calling "Jinx!" while the Doc is left with a deep sense of unease. The fact he has just shared a synchronicitous moment with Joe Penhale has left him feeling rather insecure about his mental acuity. _Perhaps I'll partake in The Times crossword when I return home this evening_, he considers.

Stirling looks back and forth between the two men. "Yes, I'm returning to the surgery to see patients starting Wednesday."

"Do you have any sense in your head at all?" the Doc asks critically. "You have just spent a week in hospital, part of that time spent with a nasogastric tube up your nose and down your throat. Your attending physician has warned you to avoid stress and anxiety, which can trigger an episode of vomiting – I've read your patient notes and chart, Dr. Aylesworth. But two days after being discharged from the hospital, you're going to skip down to the surgery and treat a full roster of patients. That doesn't sound like it could spark anxiety or cause stress at all," he adds sarcastically.

"Martin ..." says Louisa but is cut off by a sharp retort from Stirling.

"I have a responsibility to the people of this village," she says.

"And you have a responsibility to your own health and ..." The Doc stops talking after he notices everyone at the table is watching their verbal sparring with rapt attention. He emits a cross between a sigh and a grunt and stalks off toward a table for two in the far corner.

"I'm sorry Louisa," Stirling says. "I didn't mean to set him off. I hope it doesn't ruin your evening."

Louisa smiles and touches her arm. "He'll calm down in a minute. He over-steps personal boundaries sometimes but he means well. He really has your best interest at heart. I'll see you Wednesday morning." With that, she turns and follows her husband over to their table.

Stirling sits down in her seat and watches the pair settle into their seats across the room. She feels hot breath on her right ear again. "We're going to have a discussion about this returning to work on Wednesday issue later at home," whispers Joe, his face serious.

She looks down and digs out a forkful of Stargazy Pie, relishing the flavours in her mouth while she considers the Doc and Louisa's words. She looks down at her pie again and swears one of the fish heads winks at her.

* * *

"We have this poor woman lying on an examination bench; she's convinced there's something seriously wrong with her," Christopher describes, leaning in to the table as everyone listens, mesmerized by his story. "She's a marathon runner, she works out every day, she watches what she eats, but she still can't seem to lose weight and she keeps gaining. It's been going on for about a month and her husband is starting to complain about her appearance. This woman is fit, barely an ounce of fat on her. Her skin is glowing. Her hair is perfect. She is gorgeous. Meanwhile, her husband keeps yammering on to Stirling about how she keeps getting fatter and he doesn't want to play blanket monster with her anymore and can we please find out what's wrong and cure her so he can get his old wife back. He's saying this and the poor woman is lying right there listening to all of it. Big tears are rolling down her cheeks and I keep handing her tissues."

The women around the table begin grumbling angrily.

"Now, you can always tell when Stirling is getting right narked with someone because she starts tapping her foot or she stands with her hands gripping one another behind her back, almost like she can't trust herself not to merk the crap out of them," explains Christopher. "Well, with this mingebag, she's doing both. 'Have you ever thought that you might have played a role in your wife's current weight problem, sir?' she asks him. He's incredulous. 'I'm not shoving the food down her throat,' he says. 'You're wife has a parasite,' she tells him, 'and you put it there.'"

Everyone around the table gasps.

"The bloke is horrified," says Christopher, acting out the man's actions. "He's hysterical, convinced some space creature from Alien is going to come flying out of his beer baby. Suddenly, he couldn't care less about his ball and chain; it was all about him. Stirling lets him bang on for about five minutes; I'm not exaggerating. He's weeping, he's so upset. Suddenly, she's had enough. She turns to the wife and announces: 'You're pregnant, probably about three or four months along, but you should probably have an ultrasound to date it properly.'"

Everyone around the table laughs.

"The consulting room goes completely silent. Hubby looks at wife, she looks at hubby. He looks at Stirling. 'How could this happen?' he asks. 'If you don't understand the workings of human reproduction, you have bigger issues to worry about than your wife's weight gain,' she snips back at him. 'You don't understand,' the husband explains. 'My wife can't be pregnant; I've been deployed in Afghanistan for the past year. I haven't been home in six months.'"

Everyone around the table gasps.

"Without missing a beat, arching an eyebrow, or showing any emotion at all, Stirling states: 'It's quite apparent you already believe you're some kind of god; now you have your proof.' And she turns around, walks out of the consulting room and slams the door, leaving me to mop up the ensuing blood bath."

The room erupts into laughter.

"Did you really do and say that?" Joe asks, his arm around Stirling's shoulders. They're sitting together at their original table, abandoned by most of their tablemates, who either went home or followed Michael and Christopher to a group of tables that have been shifted together. About 20 people sit around the loud table while a few more listen and watch from other tables around the perimeter.

"I'm afraid I did. It wasn't one of my finest or most empathetic moments as a doctor," Stirling admits. "I was well entrenched in my prat phase at the time. That incident was one of the main reasons I didn't specialize in obstetrics and gynaecology."

She watches as Michael and Christopher immediately segue into another story involving a weekend hunting party at the Aubrey's country estate and the leg humping antics of an important guest's English springer spaniel.

"They are completely bevvied," she says with a sigh "Poor Leyland. He's never going to get them to go shut up or in their room until they pass out. I hope they aren't this bad at our reception."

"I'm sure they will be on their best behaviour for you," Joe says confidently.

Stirling doesn't look convinced. "You obviously haven't spent much time with them. They are never on their best behaviour, not even during solemn events. Aubrey was so drunk at his paternal granny's funeral, he was a pallbearer for someone he didn't even know and then fell into an open grave."

Joe looks at her in disbelief. "You're joking!"

"I wish! I had to help haul him out of the hole and escort him to the hospital to have his scalp stapled close."

Just then, Ben rings the small ship bell at the bar. "One minute until New Year's," he shouts. Trays of champagne sit along the top of the bar and people are soon lining up to buy a glass to toast in the New Year.

"I take it you don't want one," Joe asks.

Stirling shakes her head. "I have my ice water," she says, pointing to her half-filled glass on the table.

"And I have a few swallows left in my pint glass," he says. "We're all set."

20, 19, 18, 17, 16, 15, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

"Happy New Year Lover Boy!" Stirling says, clinking her water glass with Joe's pint glass. "Happy New Year Cheeky Tart." They both take a drink, grinning at one another.

"I love you," she whispers, leaning over to kiss him. "I love you," he says, just before their lips meet.

It's the kind of kiss that would make Stirling's sister blush and her nephew groan in horror while diving under the table. It's the kind of kiss Joe's mother would turn away from in embarrassment and Sam would whistle shrilly at. It's the kind of kiss Michael and Christopher would yell something rude during. It's the kind of kiss that makes Stirling feel fingers of heat emanating from deep in her stomach. It's the kind of kiss that makes Joe stand up, put his portable police radio in his pocket, seize one of her hands and say: "We're going home. Now."

"Yes Sergeant," she says with a smile.

* * *

Later, during the early morning hours of New Year's Day, they lie together in bed, cuddling close under the duvet, facing one another. Joe brushes Stirling's damp hair back from her face and looks into her eyes. "What's this talk about you returning to work tomorrow?" he asks her quietly.

She squirms slightly under his direct gaze. "This village has been without a full-time doctor for almost a fortnight," she explains. "After Saturday, I'm going to be away on my honeymoon for another fortnight. That's a long time to go without access to your local GP. And I'm not talking about emergency medicine – I mean access to prescriptions; pregnancy check-ups; regular, everyday health care."

"Are you sure you're well enough to do it? The Doc is going to be available to see patients during the two weeks we're away and I heard what he said to you last night."

"Most of the pub heard what the Doc said to me last night," Stirling jokes. She kisses Joe's nose. "I feel much better. I'm not experiencing any nausea. I've been taking my medication, my vitamins, following the rules. I need to do this. I want to do this."

He looks at her seriously for a few moments and then pulls her closer, kissing her gently. "Sounds like you're going to be pretty busy those three days before our wedding. I hope you can manage to stay awake on our wedding night."

She laughs as she hugs him close, resting her head on his chest. "I'm sure you'll think of some way to keep me awake."

"Cheeky tart," he whispers.

* * *

Stirling is extremely busy at the surgery over the next few days, booking her morning appointments as early as 8 a.m. and taking evening appointments until 8 p.m. She has a backlog of patients and she wants to make sure everyone who needs to see her has the opportunity to do so before Saturday.

Most of the patient visits are for routine care and prescription renewals. She also makes time to accommodate the expectant mothers she is monitoring, ensuring they have access to the local midwife's contact information plus the pregnancy clinic in Wadebridge in case of emergency or if they just need reassurance.

Wednesday and Thursday evening, Joe comes by to visit her after he finishes his shift for the day and they share a meal with Emily and Robert. And each night at 8:30, he's waiting for her with the Land Rover to drive her home.

"I'm perfectly capable of walking," she tells him. "It's not that far."

"It's dark. It's windy. It's cold. Just let me drive you home."

After surgery hours, Stirling is also busy packing for the honeymoon, a task made more complicated by the fact everything has to fit on the Triumph. They seriously consider reinstalling the sidecar to provide more luggage room but decide instead to tie-down a soft-sided duffel bag packed with clothing between the two saddle bags. "We don't need that many clothes anyway," Joe teases.

Friday morning, she packs a small overnight bag with a change of clothes plus any items she needs for Saturday. After a quick breakfast with Sam and Edna, she grabs her coat and luggage and walks through the connecting door into the police station, stopping to stand in the office doorway.

"I'm off," she says to Joe, who looks up from the desk. "I'll see you tomorrow around four in the afternoon. Have fun tonight but not too much fun," she adds with a smile.

Joe stands up and walks over, pulling her body into his arms. "Until tomorrow then," he says, hugging her close. "I'll be the well-dress bloke at the front of the church pacing and looking extremely nervous."

Stirling pulls back to look at his face. "Nervous? Why would you be nervous?"

He leans his forehead against hers. "Because I'm worried you'll suddenly come to your senses, realize I'm not the man for you and not show up."

"Never," she whispers, leaning forward and kissing him long and deep.

It's a polite cough from Sam that finally separates them. "We need to leave now," he says. Joe looks at his watch and curses under his breath.

"You better hurry too or you'll be late for your first patient," he says, giving her another quick kiss. "I love you."

"I love you," Stirling says as she turns and walks out the police station's front door.


	26. Chapter 26

As Joe opens his eyes, a razor sharp pain shoots from behind his eyes, up into his brain. "Oh my god," he moans, rubbing his skull with his left hand, as if he could massage away the agony. "What the hell happened?"

Everything around him is fuzzy, warped, and wavering in the blinding sunlight streaming through the window. But he does recognize his bedroom, the super-king bed, the pillows that smell of Stirling's shampoo. He tries his best to hold his head as still as possible as he looks around the room, noting a pile of wet clothes lying just inside the bedroom door, which is closed. He feels down his body with his hands, discovering he's wearing boxers.

_Thank god_, he thinks. _At least I wasn't running naked through the streets. _At least, he hopes he hasn't been.

He remembers being at The Crab and Lobster last night with Sam, Rob, Richard, Michael, Christopher, Leyland, Al, and a rotating crowd of male villagers including, at one point, the Doc. He remembers a stream of drinks being purchased for him by a long line of well wishers. He remembers music, a curvaceous woman dressed as a police constable, brandishing a very large, long and black baton. He has a vision of himself dancing on a table, singing an extremely rude rugby song with Michael, the woman kissing him and massaging his –

"Oh my god!" he groans, raising his left arm to check his watch – 10 a.m. "Oh my god!"

He tries his best to get out of bed without actually moving his head but it's impossible. Somehow, he finds himself on his hands and knees on the floor crawling toward the door. Holding his head as still as possible with his left hand, he rises up on his knees to open the door and crawls down the hall to the loo. Bracing his arms against the top of the sink, he finds his feet. Clawing at the medicine cabinet, he eventually manages to catch the door edge with one of his fingers, and digs along the shelves until he finds the paracetamol. Opening the cap almost kills him but it finally comes off with what he can only describe as a teeth-rattling pop. He tips about four pills into his hand and tries to swallow them dry, eventually having to slurp from the faucet as they became stuck in his throat. He sits down on the closed toilet seat and holds his head in his hands, praying for the pills to start working yesterday.

He hears what sounds like an army of pounding feet clomping up the stairs and down the hall toward him.

"I see sleeping beauty is finally awake," shouts Sam gleefully.

"Shhhhh!" Joe hisses, flinching.

"Feeling a little rough, eh brother?" Sam whispers, which still sounds too loud for Joe. "I brought you something to help with the hangover."

Sam hands him a small bottle of clear liquid. "The Doc's wife brought it over," he says. "She swears by the stuff."

Joe looks up at him and manages to partially open his eyes. "Louiser?" he asks. "She gave you this?"

Sam nods his head, which only makes Joe's ache even more out of sympathy. He breaks the seal on the bottle and gulps down the contents. It tastes nasty but he manages to keep it down.

"What happened last night?" he whispers to Sam. "I remember some woman dressed as a police constable. I think I was dancing with her. Was that Stirling?"

Sam laughs, making Joe groan and cover his ears. "That was Natasha, the entertainment for the evening. And entertaining she was. But very disappointed when she heard you were the groom-to-be. She took a real shine to you."

Joe sits there for a moment, trying to catch up mentally. "She was a stripper?" he groans. "You hired a stripper for my quiet, relaxed, we'll-sit-around-and-have-a few-drinks-at-the-pub stag gathering?"

"I'd describe Natasha more as an exotic dancer," says Sam. "Anyway, you sure liked her, although she became really annoyed with being called Stirling all night."

If Joe's head and body didn't ache so much, he's sure he would lunge for Sam's neck and strangle him with his bare hands. The nauseous feeling he is now experiencing has little to do with the amount of alcohol he consumed the night before. "I didn't do anything with her?" he whispers. "You know – did I?"

Sam sits down on the edge of the tub and gives Joe a hard slap on the back. "Don't worry, your big brother looked after you."

Joe's not sure if his brain will ever stop vibrating against the inside of his skull.

"I have some photos. Do you want to see them?"

Joe looks horrified. "No!"

Sam laughs again. "All she did was sit on your lap and give you a couple of kisses. She had her costume on. Then you did a bit of table dancing."

Joe sits there, hoping the pills or hangover cure will soon start working. He needs to shower, get dressed and get the luggage organized before the ceremony at 4 p.m. He looks at his watch again. He has five and a half hours. He needs to feel better before then.

Sam looks over at Joe and shakes his head. "But I'm not sure if Stirling is ever going to forgive you," he says solemnly.

Joe looks up sharply, instantly regretting the sudden movement. "What do you mean?" he asks, his stomach clenching in fear.

"I don't think she appreciated being awakened at 3 a.m. I know the Doc didn't."

Sam tries very hard not to laugh as he watches Joe, who becomes incredibly pale but with a greenish tinge. "What did I do?"

"You stood outside the surgery and serenaded her," says Sam, enjoying every minute of Joe's discomfort. "You sang that Cheap Trick song that Stirling performed the night you first met her, you remember the one? _I want to you to want me; I need you to need me; I'd love you to love me_," Sam warbles.

"Enough! I know the bloody song!" Joe moans, his head in his hands.

"When she came to the window, you got down on your knees and swore your undying love to her. You called her your Cheeky Tart Juliet. You begged her to come unlock the door for you so you could go upstairs and make mad passionate love to her. And that's when her sister threw a bucket of water on you and told you to go home before she called the police. Of course, she didn't appreciate it when you informed her you were the police and you were planning to file charges against her for assaulting a police sergeant. And then the Doc came out and started yelling at us for disturbing the peace and encouraging a drunken idiot – meaning you of course. So we decided we'd better get you home."

"We?"

"Robert, Richard, Michael, Christopher, Leyland and I had to basically drag and carry you home," recounts Sam. "You kept fighting us, wanting to go back and spend the night with Stirling. It was bloody hilarious. I thought when we got you home, I was going to need to handcuff you to the bed. By the way, that's a damn fine bed you have. That has to be Stirling's. There is no way in hell you'd pick out something that nice. Anyway, we stripped you out of your wet clothes, got you into that amazing bed, and you passed out like a good boy."

Joe sits quietly, still gripping his head, praying for some form of relief, like for his brother to just disappear.

Sam is quiet for a few moments and clears his throat.

"Those are pretty serious scars," he says quietly, nodding with his head toward Joe's bare arms. "I saw the one on your back and the big one on your stomach last night."

Joe looks up with a crooked smile. "I don't even notice them anymore."

Sam looks down at the floor. "I'm sorry we didn't make it out to visit you when it happened," he says softly.

He looks up at Joe with serious eyes. "I couldn't get her to go. She said she didn't want to see you that way; that she always knew the job would be the death of you."

Joe just smiles. "It's okay, Sam."

"She really was worried about you."

Joe puts his left hand on his big brother's shoulder. "You don't need to make excuses for her. I really did enjoy your phone calls. They helped get my mind off things."

Sam looks down at the black and white tile and then at Joe. "Was it really bad?" he asks.

Joe is silent for a moment, considering the question. "It was the most terrifying moment of my life, so far. After, it was the most painful. But, strangely, it was also the most wonderful. I have Stirling. And that is worth every stitch, every headache and every inch of scar. She's helped drive all my worry and fear away. And I've helped her, too."

Sam looks at Joe. "Her scars are just as bad, aren't they?"

Joe laughs. "I don't notice hers either. I don't think of them as scars. They're more like a badge of courage. People notice them and that bothers her a little but her confidence is slowly coming back. I had her out at the beach in a bikini several times this past summer. She was always the most beautiful woman there."

Joe stares out the washroom door into space, remembering those wonderful afternoons lying on the warm sand, healing.

Sam clears his throat, leans forward and awkwardly wraps his arms around Joe, kissing him on the cheek. Joe is gobsmacked.

"I love you little brother," Sam says huskily, hugging him close.

"I love you too," stammers Joe, completely shocked.

"What the hell is going on in here?" asks Michael in a booming voice as he enters the loo. He stares wide-eyed at Sam and Joe.

"Wait a minute – I thought you were marrying Stirling today. You two-timing asshole!"

Sam looks over his shoulder with a scowl. "He's my brother, Aubrey! Get your dirty mind out of the gutter. Can't a big brother hug his little brother? After all, it is his wedding day."

With that, Sam jumps to his feet and rumples Joe's hair with affection. "Time to get moving, bro. The clock is ticking and you don't have much time left as a free man."

Michael glances at his vintage Gucci watch and gasps. "You better get your arse in gear, Sergeant."

Surprisingly, with all the activity and shouting going on in the echoing confines of the loo, Joe's head is beginning to feel better and his stomach has unclenched. He stands up from the toilet and waves the two men out the door. "Maybe if you two get the hell out of here, I can have a shower," he says, yawning.

"Oh yeah," says Sam, stopping in the doorway. "Robert and I packed the Triumph for you this morning and drove it over to the farm. So, you don't need to worry about that."

Joe looks at him suspiciously. "What did you do?"

"Nothing," says Sam innocently. "We didn't touch a thing. Honest."

Joe's not convinced. He thinks for a moment. "Who drove the Triumph?" he asks with a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Sam pokes his head around the door jam. "I did," he says with a wink and disappears out the door.

"But you don't have a motorcycle licence!" Joe says as the door slams in his face.

_What a way to start a marriage_, he thinks, adjusting the water to the right temperature. _I'm already needing to hold back information from Stirling._ There's no way in hell he's going to tell her that Sam drove the Triumph. He can just imagine her reaction. Hopefully, the bike is still in one piece.

After his shower, Joe feels 100 per cent better. The throbbing in his head is completely gone and the world is a lot less fuzzy and unstable. And he's actually feeling hungry as he heads downstairs in his housecoat.

In the kitchen, Christopher and Robert stand in front of the cooker, both staring down at an omelet. Michael sits at the kitchen table reading The London Times, while Richard flips through a magazine. Leyland is also at the table reading a copy of The Art of War. Joe has to look twice to make sure he's reading the title right. Sam is nowhere to be seen, a bad sign.

"Hey, there's the condemned man!" says Robert with a smile. "I see you survived the wrath of the morning after the night before."

Christopher gives him a small wave and turns back to the cooker.

"What on Earth are you two doing?" Joe asks, baffled.

"Rob is showing me how to make the perfect omelet," says Christopher, staring raptly at the frying pan.

"Okay, see how the edges are starting to brown?" Robert explains to Christopher, who nods. "Now is the time to flip the omelet. This part is important and can make or break the meal."

Grabbing the frying pan handle, Robert lifts it from the cooker and shakes it back and forth a few times, the omelet sliding in the pan. Then, with a skilled flip of his wrist, he throws the omelet into the air. It rotates once and then falls back into the pan, cooked side up.

Christopher is mesmerized. "That's amazing! Did you see that Leyland?"

"Yes, sir," says the gentleman's gentleman without looking up from his book.

"Think you can do it?" asks Robert, handing the frying pan handle over to Christopher.

Joe's stomach rumbles as he envisions the rookie flipper destroying the appetizing looking breakfast. "Is that omelet for me?" he asks, salivating.

Rob and Christopher both look over. "Yes," says Robert. "The rest of us have already eaten breakfast so I thought I'd whip you up something."

"With my help," adds Christopher proudly.

"I'm really starving," says Joe, reaching for the last empty chair at the table. "Can I have that now?"

Robert looks down at the frying pan in Christopher's hands and understands. "Just let me cook up the other side for a minute or two and it will be ready," he says, taking the handle from Christopher. "We'll practice flipping another time."

Christopher looks disappointed as he walks away from the cooker and into the lounge.

"Where's Sam?" Joe asks.

Michael looks up from his newspaper and glances around vacantly. "I don't know," he says. "He's kicking around here somewhere."

_A very bad sign_, thinks Joe.

He looks across the table at Richard, who appears to be completely engrossed in his magazine. "What are you reading, Richard?" asks Joe curiously.

The teen boy looks up guiltily and blushes slightly. He holds up the cover, which depicts a large breasted, dark-haired woman in a seductive pose, lying across the hood of a Devon and Cornwall police car. She's topless and wearing very scanty black panties plus ridiculously high-heeled shoes. On her head is a policeman's cap, very similar to Joe's, and she is doing something rather rude with a baton. The title of the magazine reads Naughty Natasha Gets Nicked. Someone has written on the cover in black marker: To my adorable Richie, Love, Natasha. There is a line of x's and o's under her name.

"What the bloody hell?" asks Joe, looking over at Robert, who merely shrugs.

"He's a growing boy," he says nonchalantly. "She wanted to let him have one. I thought why not?"

Leyland looks up from his book and glances over at an inside photo spread in the magazine. He grunts and goes back to reading his book, his expression never changing.

_This place has become a testosterone-fueled mad house_, thinks Joe as he cuts into his omelet. He feels like he's back at the police college, sleeping in the group dorm. He's waiting for the rude noises competition to begin.

But as he takes a bite of the omelet, he feels the worry, nervousness and concern about the day disappear in a wave of deliciousness.

"This is amazing!" he says to Robert as he chews, pointing at the omelet with his fork. "It's like heaven made of eggs, cheese and mushrooms."

"Secret Muncie recipe," says Robert proudly. "It's been passed down through the male side of the family."

"Well, it's fantastic," says Joe, taking another huge bite.

As he devours his breakfast, he wonders how Stirling is holding up dealing with her sister and her house of hens.

* * *

As Stirling opens her eyes, a razor sharp pain shoots from behind her eyes up into her brain.

"Bloody hell," she thinks, bringing both of her hands to her head to massage her temples.

She's not at all surprised she's awoken with a killer headache. The stress of the wedding, combined with her overbearing sister and worrying about Joe – who didn't help with his hilarious but ultimately drunken behaviour last night – has resulted in a tension headache. She probably spent the whole night grinding her teeth in her sleep.

She stumbles out of bed and shuffles to the adjacent washroom, digging in the cabinet above the sink for a bottle of paracetamol. She pops the lid, taps four onto her hand and pauses.

_What the hell am I doing?_ she thinks. _I can't take these. I'm four months pregnant! _She tips the pills back into the bottle and puts it away. _How the hell am I going to get rid of this headache?_ she thinks.

She looks at her watch – 10 a.m.! They obviously let her sleep in. She doesn't have a lot of time.

Stirling can feel the tension rising inside her. She has to get it under control. She sits on the closed toilet seat, closes her eyes and goes through the breathing exercises the doctor had taught her. She imagines something peaceful – the isolated beach Joe had taken her to in the summer, the sound of the waves, the feel of the warm sand, the heat of the sun, the presence of Joe lying beside her. She can feel the worry slowly leaving her. As she recalls those days lying on the beach, she thinks of the future. She looks forward to next summer, lying on the beach with Joe again. Of course, there will be more than just the two of them; the baby will be there as well.

"What on Earth are you doing?" a voice asks, startling her out of her trance.

She opens her eyes to find Emily standing in the doorway, staring at her.

"Is there something you haven't told me?" her sister asks with a smile. "The way you're breathing and panting, I swear you're in labour."

Stirling's stomach clenches in sheer terror. She can feel bile rising in her throat.

"Oh my god, I'm just kidding!" Emily says with a laugh. "You should see your face. You look terrified. I know you're not pregnant, so don't worry. It's not like you become pregnant and instantly know the breathing techniques. Just what kind of doctor are you?" she teases, sitting down on the edge of the tub beside Stirling.

She laughs with Emily, feeling her stomach loosen, her throat relax, the bile descend. _Emily's just joking,_ she thinks. _She's just joking. _"How do you know I'm not pregnant?" she asks innocently.

Emily looks at her with a smile. "First of all, I'd kill you," she says. "You know how I feel about that."

_Uh-oh_, thinks Stirling.

"Secondly, you're too young to be thinking of having babies. You should be enjoying your life, your time with Joe."

"Em, I'm 34-years-old. Few people would consider that young to be having babies. Actually, some would consider that a late start."

Emily juts her chin stubbornly. "Well, they don't know you. Relax, enjoy life. Don't be in such a hurry to tie yourself down with babies, dirty diapers, crying, and saggy breasts that leak everywhere. It changes a marriage. I should know."

"Wow, I'm really enjoying this inspirational pep talk I'm getting from my big sister on the morning of my wedding day," Stirling says sarcastically.

Emily reaches over and clasps Stirling's left hand. "I care about you and I want you to be happy. It's easy to see Joe makes you happy. And he's completely smitten with you. That man's like an open book, worrying and fussing over you while you were in the hospital with that stomach bug. I don't want to see you jeopardize that intimacy with the addition of a baby. Wait a few years, that's all I'm suggesting."

Stirling feels the guilt weighing down on her shoulders. Emily is going to be so disappointed in her when she finds out. While this baby is bringing happiness and joy to her and Joe, it will be breaking her sister's heart. _I'm a horrible sister_, she thinks.

As Emily rubs Stirling's arm, she can feel the ridge of scar tissue running up and down the soft inner skin. "They're on both arms, aren't they?" she asks quietly.

Stirling looks down at the scars. "Yes, but I'm wearing long, white fingerless gloves. The dress will cover most of the other scars, except the one on my left shoulder but it is hardly noticeable anymore."

"I'm not worried about how they will look during the wedding," Emily says, looking at Stirling. A tear drips down her cheek. "I'm so sorry we didn't come down to see you when it happened."

She sobs and wraps her arms around Stirling, who hugs her back, completely shocked. "That's okay, Em," she says, patting her sister's back, which heaves with each sob. "I know you couldn't get away. I enjoyed your phone calls; they really helped."

Emily pulls away from the hug and looks at her sister. "We also talked to the Doc and Louisa every day. They let us know how you and Joe were doing. Stirling, I feel so bad we weren't there for you."

Stirling smiles and wipes a few tears from Emily's cheeks. "Don't worry. I had lots of friends to help me. And Joe. I couldn't have done it without him. It's funny, but I think we sort of healed each other. We were both so wrapped up in our own guilt, thinking we had failed each other. But the more time we spent together, the less power the guilt had."

She looks over at her sister. "I thought I was in love with him before that night. But what I feel for him now is so much more than what I felt for him then. I never knew it could be like this, loving and being loved by another person. I want and need him. And he needs and wants me. It's like we fit together, like a puzzle piece."

She laughs. "I found my missing piece in a small fishing village located along an isolated strip of coastline in northern Cornwall. What are the odds of that?"

She wipes at her tears as she looks over at Emily, doing the same. They laugh at each other, sniffling.

"Aren't we a pair," Emily says, giving in and wiping her eyes with her sleeve.

"A pair of weepy old cows!" jokes Stirling.

"Speak for yourself. You need to start thinking about getting ready. I'll make you something to eat while you have a shower." Emily stands up and heads for the door.

"I'm going to have a bit of a soak, if you don't mind," says Stirling. "I'll probably be down in about 40 minutes."

Emily pauses and smiles. "I'll time your brunch for then. I love you, Stirling."

Stirling looks up in surprise. "I love you too, Em."

Emily gives her a small wave and closes the door behind her. Stirling waits about a minute before getting up and locking the door. She can't have anyone walking in on her naked. Her baby bump is still small enough to be disguised with baggy clothes or, in the case of her wedding dress, a well designed stretchy panel combined with artistically draped cloth. But catch her naked and the swelling in her tummy is blatantly obvious.

As she runs the water into the tub, she collects and packs the various last minute personal items she will need for the honeymoon.

Stirling sighs with relief as she steps into the hot bath water. She sits down and lies back against the sloped end of the tub. Her small mountain of belly sits just under the water's surface, not yet large enough to make an island. She puts her hands over the mound and closes her eyes, sinking her head slowly under the water.

Last night she felt movement for the first time. She had been lying in bed, trying to sleep when she felt the fluttering, very similar to nervous butterflies in her stomach. A few minutes later, she felt it again. She had put her hands over her belly but could feel nothing on the outside. The fluttering had continued for about an hour. She had been fascinated, terrified, and overjoyed. She had also been disappointed Joe wasn't there to experience it.

_I'll tell him tonight_, she thinks, relaxing her body under the water. Her headache is almost gone and she feels the knots of tension leaving her body. She also feels the fluttering starting again, making her smile.

She relaxes and soaks until the water begins to cool, drains the tub and fills it again with hot water. _Time to get to work_, she thinks, lathering up her legs for a shave.

Twenty minutes later, she's squeaky clean, her hair shining. After pulling the plug and drying off, she pulls on some clean underwear and a baggy pair of Joe's old running shorts. She digs an old sports bra out of her overnight bag and an oversized Devon and Cornwall Police T-shirt with Penhale written in large black letters across the back. She walks slowly down the stairs and through the piano room on her way to the kitchen.

While Emily bustles about the kitchen cooking Stirling's breakfast, Louisa nurses a large glass of milk at one end of the kitchen table, sharing stories of life in Portwenn with Roberta, who sits at the other end. Meanwhile, Morwenna and Edna are curled up in two separate lounge chairs in the piano room, both seemingly unconscious.

"Are they okay?" Stirling asks, pointing to the pair.

"They had a rough night," says Louisa. "I think Morwenna was rather uncomfortable last night and didn't get much sleep and Edna was dipping into the hard stuff, lamenting the loss of her little boy. We've decided to let them sleep a little longer."

"Is that where they spent the night?" asks Stirling, horrified.

"We tried to wake them up to go upstairs but they wouldn't budge," explains Roberta. "And they were too heavy to carry."

Stirling gives Morwenna and Edna a concerned glance before taking a seat at the table.

"That's quite a fashion statement you're making, Aunt Stirling," giggles Roberta, pointing to her T-shirt and shorts.

"It is, isn't it?" she says, looking down at her shirt, which has "Have No Fear, The Law Is Here" emblazoned across the front, complete with the force's crest. "One thing about the Devon and Cornwall Police, they provide their officers with an extensive wardrobe. On duty, off duty, at the gym, running down a jogging trail, no one would ever have any doubt who they're employed by or what their last name is."

She turns her back to Roberta so the teen can see Joe's last name in capitals across the back of the shirt, which makes her giggle even more.

"I have it on good authority that your Aunt Stirling looks much better in Joe's clothes than Joe actually does," adds Louisa with a wink.

Stirling smiles as her sister sets a plate in front of her covered with a large helping of omelet, fried potatoes and a few sausage links. As soon as the smell wafts up, her stomach rebels, clenching and gurgling. It's the first time in a week she's felt nauseous.

_Damn,_ she thinks. _I can't eat this._

Mentally, she begins her relaxation routine, reciting the periodic table backwards and forwards, as she pokes her fork around her plate, trying to look like she's eating. Luckily, Em is busy washing up the dishes and isn't paying much attention, but Roberta is watching her curiously.

Stirling glances over at Louisa, who can see there's a problem.

"Do you need any help with the washing up, Emily?" Louisa asks.

"No, I'm fine. Roberta, you come here and help dry."

With one final curious glance at her Aunt Stirling, Roberta joins her mother at the sink, wiping down each of the dishes she's handed.

Louisa stands, slides Stirling's plate off the table and walks through the piano room on her way to the downstairs loo. A few minutes later, the toilet flushes and Louisa comes back with the empty plate, which she quickly hands back to Stirling, no one the wiser.

"That was wonderful, Em," Stirling says, wiping her mouth with her napkin and taking a big gulp of water. She stands up from the table and brings her empty plate to the sink, slipping in into the wash water."

"You're finished already?" Emily says, amazed.

"I was really hungry," says Stirling, wondering if she has any digestive biscuits or crackers tucked in her overnight bag.

"Remember, the photographer is arriving here at two o'clock to take pictures," says Emily. "Your flowers arrived this morning and are in the refrigerator. I asked the delivery man and he said he had already dropped the boys' flowers off. From here, he was going straight to the church with the urns.

"That's good," says Stirling, feeling relieved that things are going according to plan.

She glances at her watch – noon; only four hours to go.

_Hopefully Joe will be sober by then_, she thinks with a smile as she heads back upstairs to arrange her clothing, double check she has his wedding ring and find some biscuits.


	27. Chapter 27

By three o'clock, the Portwenn police station resembles an insane asylum. Half dressed men are running everywhere, searching for shirts, ties, cuff links, shoe polish and lint brushes, much to the amusement of the wedding photographer's assistant, who has been assigned the dubious honour of photographing the groom's preparations. Actually, of all the males seething through the building, the groom seems to be the most organized and calm, although the chauffeur would probably be a close second.

Joe sits calmly at the kitchen table, his hat and the box with Stirling's ring in it resting on the flat surface in front of him. His dress uniform is impeccably clean, his white uniform collar starched, his medals and chrome sergeant stripes gleaming. His shoes have been polished to a brilliant shine and he has even managed to pin his own boutonniere on straight.

Meanwhile, everyone else is going crazy.

Eventually, order begins to be restored as Leyland assists the most disorganized, mainly Michael, Sam and young Richard, who is so nervous, he keeps losing his shoes.

With just a few minutes to spare before they have to leave for the church, the photographer is finally able to take some individual and group photos of the men, including the two brothers together, the father and son, and the already married couple, veterans of wedding day insanity. Even Leyland has his photo taken, to his great embarrassment. The men sort out their car assignments with Joe, Richard, and Michael driving with Sam in the Volvo to the church while Leyland, Robert and Christopher take the Bentley to the surgery to pick up Stirling.

At the surgery, the atmosphere is a bit calmer and less chaotic. Stirling looks stunning with her hair piled on top of her head in a sophisticated twist designed and executed by Morwenna. Her veil is pinned at the back of her head, the long tulle train cascading down her back to join the train of her dress. Her make-up, applied by Louisa, is simple but beautiful. And the dress – the dress is the talk of the surgery.

"Oh my god!" says Emily, tears streaming down her face. "You look just like Mum."

Roberta's eyes shine with excitement as she admires her Aunt Stirling in the famous Aylesworth dress, the subject of much family lore.

Even Edna has to admit her future daughter-in-law is a vision of beauty.

The women organize themselves into various vehicles with Edna driving to the church with the Doc, Louisa and James Henry while Emily and Roberta drive with Al and Morwenna.

For a few brief moments, Stirling is by herself in the surgery, the photographer outside awaiting the arrival of the Bentley. She looks around the piano room. She really misses her Steinway. Michael and Christopher promise to find an upright that will fit into the police station – their wedding gift to her – but for now, she can play the Steinway before and after the surgery hours. She sits at the bench, fanning out her bulky dress, and runs her fingers lightly over the keys, searching for a song to calm her. She decides to play a bit of Beethoven. She doesn't even hear the front door of the surgery open and is startled when she looks up and finds Leyland patiently waiting for her.

"It's time to go, Miss Stirling," he says. "Aye, you make a beautiful bride, my lovely girl." He helps her up from the piano bench and gives her a gentle kiss on the cheek. "For luck, my lass."

"Thank you, Leyland," Stirling says, hugging him close and returning the kiss. She links her arm through his, clutching her bouquet and Joe's wedding ring, and he leads her regally out the front door toward the photographer and the Bentley.

* * *

Joe isn't feeling very calm as he stands at the front of the church, the organ music playing lightly in the background. Stirling's ring is safely in his front left pocket, his hat firmly held under his right arm; he hasn't misplaced anything – except perhaps his bride.

Stirling is five minutes late.

As he looks toward the back of the church, he is surprised by the amount of people who have come to witness the nuptials. His mother and Sam sit in the front pew on his side of the sanctuary while Stirling's sister, niece and nephew sit at the front on the opposite side. Morwenna and Al plus Louisa, the Doc and James Henry sit behind them while Michael shifts nervously in the third pew back. The rest of the seating is filled with dozens of people from Portwenn and the surrounding area. It's pretty much a full house.

As Joe waits, he smiles nervously at the minister standing beside him, a man he met for the first time a few months back when he originally reserved the church. They have talked a few times since then but Joe is too tense to engage in idle chit-chat at the moment.

He looks at his watch – 4:08 p.m. He shifts his feet impatiently as worry begins to creep into his stomach. _This isn't like her_, he thinks. _Stirling is typically on time._

Everyone in the church, including Joe and the minister, give a slight start as the loud music of a mobile ring tone echoes through the building. It's the theme music to James Bond.

Michael digs in his suit jacket pockets, searching madly for the source of the song. "Yes," he says loudly into his mobile, standing up and starting to walk out of the church. He pauses, looking back at Joe.

"Where are you?" he hisses. "Everyone is here waiting." He turns and practically runs out of the building, leaving everyone baffled by his actions and chattering excitedly to one another.

Joe begins to follow but Sam jumps up. "I'll go check it out," he says, touching Joe's arm. "Just relax. She'll be here." Sam walks down the aisle and out the church door.

Joe is beginning to sweat.

Another strident ring echoes through the sanctuary.

"I thought you put that on vibrate," says Louisa, glaring at the Doc, who is fishing his mobile out of his pocket.

"Ellingham," he says, standing up to walk out of the church. He also pauses. "Yes. Yes. I understand. I'll be there in a moment."

He clicks off the mobile and turns to Louisa, whispering a request in her ear. She looks at him like he's mad but begins digging through the diaper bag beside her. She eventually finds what she's looking for and hands him a small box of animal crackers. He grabs it, shoves it in his jacket pocket and strides rapidly out of the church.

Now Joe is really sweating.

* * *

In the parking area just outside the church, the Bentley sits with all of its doors open, a small group of well-dressed men standing in a semi-circle around one of the rear passenger doors. The Doc squeezes his way between Christopher and Michael, his eyes widening in surprise.

Stirling lies across the back leather seat of the luxury car, her head just sticking out the door, retching pathetically onto the ground. Her hair is mussed, her veil is crooked and as she looks up at the Doc, it's quite obvious her make up has run.

"I can't stop being sick," she whimpers, immediately lowering her head so she can retch again.

"When did this start?" the Doc demands, turning to Christopher, the only other doctor in the group.

"She complained of nausea pretty much from the moment we left Portwenn but she didn't really start honking anything up until just before we entered Blisland. We stopped and she vomited a few times. We made it to the turnoff for the church before we had to pull over again. She was sick a few more times. We thought she was done; that there couldn't be anything else left in her stomach. But when we finally made it to the church, she started again. And she hasn't really stopped for the past three minutes."

The Doc squats down by Stirling. "Dr. Aylesworth, what did you have to eat this morning?"

"Nothing," she croaks out, spitting out more bile. "As soon as I smelled breakfast, I became nauseous. And I couldn't find any biscuits in my bag."

"So you've had nothing to eat since last night?"

She nods her head.

"Idiot!" the Doc barks at her, standing up.

"I need a glass or bottle of water, something to drink," he says to Robert as he pulls the box of animal crackers out of his pocket.

"You're going to have a snack right now?" asks Sam in surprise.

"No, you moron," the Doc snarls. "These are for her, as is the water. Good god!"

He squats back down next to Stirling and rips open the box. He hands her a few crackers. "I want you to eat these slowly. SLOWLY!"

She grabs one and takes a small bite, chewing it thoroughly. By the time Robert returns with a bottle of water, she has finished four crackers and managed to keep them down.

The Doc grabs the bottle, unscrews the lid and hands it to Stirling. "Just small sips," he says. "After each cracker, have a sip of water."

He stands up, shaking his head. "Did any of you geniuses think to ask her if she had anything to eat today?" he yells, throwing his hands up in disgust. "She only got out of the hospital a week ago after being treated for severe hyperemesis gravidarum."

Christopher gasps, his eyes widening.

The rest of the men look completely baffled. "What the hell is hyper-mouse gravy-barium?" asks Robert. "Joe told us she had a stomach bug."

The Doc goes silent. He's said too much. He looks at Christopher, silently begging him to keep his mouth shut.

"That is a type of stomach bug," says the paediatrician quickly. "Part of the extended treatment is she needs to have a small amount of food in her stomach at all times."

Doc heaves a silent sigh of relief as he squats back down by Stirling. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better," she says. "I'd like to try sitting up."

Providing his arms for support, the Doc helps her sit upright in the back of the car. She wipes at her tear stained face, and makes a halfhearted attempt at fixing her hair but she knows it's a lost cause.

"I look pretty bad, don't I?" she says to the small circle of male faces gazing into the car. They all look away, somewhat embarrassed. "Great," she mutters.

Christopher turns to Michael. "Go grab Morwenna and Louisa and tell them we need them out here right away," he orders. "You still have your makeup case in the back seat with you, right?" he asks Stirling.

She nods her head, chewing slowly on another animal cracker.

"Good because here comes the support troops."

The men quickly step back as Louisa and Morwenna descend, making sympathetic clucking noises as they examine the damage.

"Just leave this with us," says Louisa, turning to the group. "Everyone go back in the church and try to keep Joe from coming out here. The man is about to go Bodmin. Not you Robert; we need you to escort the bride in."

* * *

Edna and Emily are standing at the front of the church, trying to calm Joe, as the Doc, Christopher, Michael, Leyland, and Sam enter the church. The Doc strides purposefully up the aisle, raising his hands as Joe rushes toward him in a panic.

"It's all right," he says. "Everything is okay. She had a bit of a relapse but we have it under control. Louisa and Morwenna are cleaning her up and she'll be walking through those doors momentarily."

He walks Joe back up to the front of the church, leaning in to whisper in his ear.

"I don't give a damn what you have to do to accomplish it but she has to have regular meals while you're away," he says. "She had nothing to eat for breakfast or lunch today and right now, all she has in her stomach are some animal crackers and water. As soon as this service is finished, she's going to need a snack and something to drink. I'm serious Joe, if she's not careful, she's going to end up back in the hospital."

Joe looks at the Doc gratefully. "I understand," he says. "Thank you."

The Doc turns around and settles back into his pew, where Al has been busy entertaining James Henry.

As Joe turns to look toward the back of the church, he notices Christopher winking at him and nodding enthusiastically, giving him the OK sign. _Has he lost his mind?_ he wonders, momentarily distracted.

Christopher continues to wink at him and make strange rounding motions with his hands. Using both his hands, he pantomimes a rounded hill over his stomach and then points at Joe, giving him the OK sign. _He's barmy,_ he thinks.

A few minutes later, Louisa and Morwenna come bustling back into the church. Louisa gives Joe two big thumbs up as she slides back into her pew.

He hears the door of the church open and the organist quickly switches to the Bridal Chorus. The entire room full of people is on their feet as Robert and Stirling enter the church.

As soon as he sees her, Joe starts grinning like an idiot. She is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. And he is the luckiest man in the room.

Stirling is incredibly nervous as she enters the church. Her stupidity delayed the service by almost 20 minutes and she feels like a fool. It's a miracle Louisa and Morwenna were able to fix the damage she had done to her hair and makeup. And as for new experiences, she's never had to brush her teeth beside a Bentley before. But as she looks up and sees Joe standing at the front of the church, grinning away, her nervousness falls away and she smiles. He looks incredibly handsome in his uniform, easily outshining Robert, who is wearing his Yorkshire dress uniform as he escorts her down the aisle.

As they reach the front of the church, Robert turns and kisses Stirling on the cheek. He and Joe salute one another before he hands Stirling's left hand to Joe and slides into the pew with his wife and children.

"You kept me waiting long enough," Joe whispers into Stirling's ear. "I've been standing here for the past half hour going loopy."

"I had a little stomach malfunction," she whispers back. "I should be okay for a little while."

"I love you," he whispers, leaning in to kiss her tenderly on the cheek. He is interrupted by loud throat clearing from the minister.

"We're not to that point yet," the man explains, as everyone in the church laughs.

Joe and Stirling don't really recall much of the service. They're too busy staring at one another, smiling and caressing each other's hands. Somehow, they both manage to repeat their vows and exchange rings. And, considering his impatience to kiss her at the beginning of the service, the audience is rather amused that, in the end, Joe needs to be prompted several times when the appropriate moment finally comes.

"You may now kiss the bride," the minister states.

Joe continues smiling at Stirling.

A few people in the audience giggle.

"You may now kiss the bride," the minister repeats a bit louder.

The audience laughs.

"I'm sorry?" Joe asks, finally tearing his eyes away from Stirling's.

The audience laughs louder.

"You can now kiss your bride."

"Oh, thanks," says Joe, turning back to Stirling and fixing his lips to hers in one of the longest, deepest, most passionate kisses the minister has ever seen. It seems to go on forever as the couple wrap their arms around one another and hold each other tight, the congregation applauding madly. As Joe dips her, there is more laughter from the audience. Finally, they pull themselves apart and Joe lifts Stirling, spinning her around in a circle before scooping her up in his arms. She throws back her head and laughs.

"Good god!" the Doc mutters at the uncontrolled, over-the-top display of affection.

Louisa claps and cries, tears of happiness streaming down her face.

"Are you okay?" he asks, concerned.

She turns and kisses him tenderly. "It's so wonderful," she says, wiping at her eyes. "It's just so wonderful!"


	28. Chapter 28

With his uniform cap firmly on his head and his arm tightly around his new wife, Joe struts out of the Church of St. Protus and St. Hyacinth happier than he can ever remember being. Surrounded by well wishers and prompted by the photographer, he continually kisses Stirling, touching her as if he can't believe she is finally his. And she laughs with joy, amused by his boisterous affection.

"You look quite chuffed with yourself," she whispers to him before kissing him tenderly to the music of clicking cameras.

"I am," he says, kissing her nose. "I just married the most beautiful woman in all of Britain."

She kisses him again more passionately and the crowd around them hoots and whistles at the display.

"You two aren't on your honeymoon yet," someone shouts, which is greeted with much laughter.

The pair pulls apart, Stirling blushing slightly, unwilling to move too far away from his embrace or the touch of his hand. She's enjoying being this close to him, not having to hide her affection in public because he's wearing a uniform or on duty. She is basking in the intimacy.

"I love you," she whispers in his ear, tenderly touching his cheek.

"I love you," he whispers back, bringing her left hand up to his lips. "And we need to get you something to eat," he adds, looking around. He spots Sam and beckons him over.

"Stirling is right peckish," he says. "I'm hoping you can go up to the corner pub and get her some water and a snack to eat, like a sandwich or meat pie."

"Consider it done," Sam says, sprinting to his car.

For the next hour, they are poked, prodded and posed by the wedding photographer plus numerous people who loiter around, taking their own candid shots of the bride and groom. Family photos are taken plus group shots with friends. About 10 minutes into the photo shoot, Sam arrives with a bag of snacks and refreshments and Joe makes Stirling sit down and eat slowly.

"I'll never be able to escape the fussing now, will I?"

"Admit it," Joe says, leaning in to kiss her forehead, "you love every minute of it."

"Well, at some point be prepared for retaliatory fussing," she warns, swallowing her last bite of sandwich. "And thank you. I feel much better now."

After finishing the formal aspects of the photo shoot, Leyland escorts Joe and Stirling to the Bentley for the drive to the Wedding Breakfast. With the couple comfortably settled in the car, Leyland climbs behind the wheel. A quick glance in the backseat mirror shows them kissing intensely. He reaches backward and slides the glass window divider to the closed position, providing them with some privacy.

"That Patrick is a good bloke," Joe says, glancing forward. "He read my mind."

He reaches out and cups Stirling's cheek, leaning in for another long kiss. He can feel and sense the need for more within her but he pulls back to gaze at her face.

"You know, I really missed boffing with you last night," Joe says, smiling.

Stirling gasps and gives him a playful slap.

"The state you were in the last time I saw you, I'd be surprised if you can even remember last night! Dirty minded bugger!"

He pulls her over onto his lap and wraps his arms around her.

"And you wouldn't have it any other way."

They spend the rest of the short drive that way, Stirling's head tucked under Joe's chin, their arms around each other. Periodically he tips his chin down to kiss her forehead, snuggling her closer to him.

"I think I could fall asleep like this," she says, trying to stifle a yawn. "It's incredibly comfy. Let's just have Leyland keep on driving. We don't need to go to the Wedding Breakfast, do we? I've already broken my fast anyway."

"I think it's kind of important we go. And don't you want to tell everyone the big news, now that we are officially married?"

Stirling lets out a soft groan and shuts her eyes.

"My sister is going to kill me. She told me so this morning."

"Well, she's going to have to go through me to get anywhere near you. And I highly doubt she's going to kill you. It's probably just going to take her a little time to get used to the idea."

"You don't know my sister."

Stirling feels somewhat apprehensive as the Bentley slows to pull in at the farm, turning down a side lane leading to a large parking lot, filled with guests' vehicles. Leyland swings the large vehicle around and stops next to a rustic looking barn.

He opens the privacy glass window. "Just wait Miss Stirling, Mr. Joe," he says. "I'll come around and do this properly."

Stirling smiles as the distinguished man exits the Bentley, adjusts his chauffeur's cap, and walks over to the passenger side rear doors. A crowd gathers outside the building and breaks into applause as Leyland opens the Bentley door. Joe exits first, immediately donning his police cap, and turns to assist Stirling out of the vehicle. Leyland helps straighten her train as the couple enters the building.

As they enter the large dining area within the rustic barn. Stirling is mesmerized by the decorations, including sparkling lights crisscrossing the ceiling and wrapping around the barn's exposed wooden beams. She turns to Joe and smiles.

"It's beautiful," she whispers.

"You're beautiful," he says, kissing her. The guests waiting in the reception line whistle in appreciation.

The new couple stands together and welcomes each guest into the dining hall. Stirling is surprised to welcome many of her patients and other residents from Portwenn, even though they had not been officially invited. She is also pleasantly surprised to see Assistant Chief Constable Eric Barnett and his wife, Melanie, plus Sergeant David Thomas and his wife, Briar.

"You look stunning, sweetheart," Melanie says, giving her a big hug and kissing her cheek. "That dress is amazing."

"It's gorgeous," adds Briar.

"It was my mum's," Stirling explains. "And this is the amazing man who did the alterations on it," she adds, kissing Pablo, who just happens to be next in line.

"You look mesmerizing, darling," he says, kissing her other cheek. "Your man can barely keep his eyes off you."

Stirling blushes and quickly introduces Pablo to Joe plus Melanie and Briar. She watches with amusement as the two women instantly latch on to him, intent on discussing fashion.

Louisa is still crying by the time she and the Doc make it through the line to the bride and groom. "Are you okay?" Stirling asks her, concerned. "I'm fine," she laughs through her tears. "I must be feeling particularly hormonal today. I thought the service was lovely and I haven't been able to stop crying since."

Stirling hugs Louisa close. "You helped make the service lovely," she says softly. "Thank you so much for all of the support and assistance you've given me."

"I loved every minute of it," Louisa whispers, kissing her cheek.

"Congratulations Penhale, Dr. Aylesworth," the Doc says, formally shaking hands with both of them. He blushes as Stirling leans forward on her tiptoes and kisses him on the cheek.

"Thanks Chief," she says with a smile.

The line of guests finally thins out and Sam, who volunteered to be the master of ceremonies for the evening, escorts the bride and groom to their table, where they are seated with immediate family. Adjacent tables are filled with close friends and villagers. Stirling and Joe opted for a more informal reception without a head table and endless toasts and speeches but Sam insisted there had to be an MC to tell guests what to do, which he immediately begins to do.

"Good evening everyone," he says into a microphone set adjacent to a small stage area. "My name is Sam Penhale, brother of the groom, and I will be acting as the master of ceremonies for tonight's festivities. I'd like to encourage all of you to find your tables at this time as we dine together in celebration of the wedding of Joe and Stirling."

The meal is wonderful, at least the parts that Stirling is actually capable of consuming. Despite taking her medication and doing her relaxation exercises, she is a jumble of nerves, her stomach rolling. To her great embarrassment, Joe begins to feed her the items she likes off his own plate in order to get food into her. Everyone else at the table thinks it's the most adorable and endearing thing they have ever seen.

"I think I'm going to cry," Emily sniffles, watching Joe hold a forkful of mashed potatoes for Stirling to take a bite of. She turns toward Robert. "You've never fed me like that!"

"I've never needed to," he says with a laugh. "Anyway, I usually finish my meal well before you're half done your own. There's usually nothing left to share."

Everyone laughs.

"You're spoiling her, Joey," Edna warns her son.

"She deserves to be spoiled," Joe says, never moving his eyes away from Stirling. He leans in and kisses her, prompting whistles from fellow guests.

Following the meal, Joe and Stirling hope to move into the dancing portion of the evening, with the music provided by Strip Search, the band Stirling used to perform with. So they are a bit surprised when Robert stands up from their table and approaches the microphone.

"Good evening everyone," he says with his strong Yorkshire accent. "My name is Robert Muncie, brother-in-law to the beautiful bride. I know this is a speech traditionally given by the father of the bride but I know Stirling Jr. would approve of me doing the honours."

"I first met Stirling when she was in primary school. As a wet-behind-the-ears police constable, I was transferred to the village closest to where her family lived and where the two Aylesworth daughters attended school. Now, Stirling was a little skinny thing, tall but with not much bone or muscle to her. She looked like a stiff wind could blow her over. So I was surprised when during the first few weeks of moving to the area, so many people warned me about what trouble the 'little Aylesworth girl' was."

The audience laughs.

"I received my first call to the primary school a month in. The headmaster met me at the door and, without saying a word, led me down a hall to a kitchen area. It was a lounge for the teachers and a place they could store and eat their lunches and relax. He escorted me over to the refrigerator and opened the door. I'll admit, the blast of stench that hit me almost knocked me over. The entire inside was coated in red, everything. All the teachers' lunches, the shelves, milk containers, fruit, the inside walls, everything was red. At first I thought it was paint but then I realized, thanks to the stench, it was actually blood."

Several people in the audience gasp while Stirling looks to see if there's room for her to crawl under the table. But Joe holds her hand firmly.

"Here I am, my first month on the job in a small village in Yorkshire, and I believe I have a grisly murder on my hands. I'm about to call in backup when the headmaster finally speaks: 'We need you to do something about her,' he says. 'We've tried every punishment possible and nothing gets through to her. The vet and her mother have tried as well but we are at a loss. Maybe as a police constable, you can scare her into behaving. Show her the handcuffs or a truncheon or something.'"

More laughter.

"I'm at a total loss. I have no idea who or what he is talking about. 'This is a major crime scene,' I tell the man, excitedly. He just looks at me with pity. 'That's not human blood; that's pigs blood,' he says. 'How do you know?' I ask him. 'Because this has happened before.'"

More gasps.

"Now I'm thinking serial killer; the Yorkshire Butcher. 'And we know who is responsible,' he adds. 'Show me,' I tell him, reaching for my handcuffs. The headmaster takes me back up the hall and into his office where a little girl is sitting. She looks to be about seven years old. 'Here she is,' the headmaster says. I thought he was nuts. 'You're telling me this little girl did that to your lounge refrigerator?' 'Yes,' he says and leaves the room. So I'm now in an office with a little girl who looks like she couldn't hurt a fly. She has big hazel eyes and freckles, curly auburn hair, and she's saying nothing."

"'Did you do something to the teachers' refrigerator?' I ask her. She looks at the floor. 'I need to know if it was you who damaged the refrigerator. If it isn't, you won't be in trouble. Maybe you can tell me who did do it.' She looks up at me. 'I do not have to say anything,' she says. 'I understand it may harm my defense if I do not mention when questioned something that I can later rely on in court. Anything I do say may be given in evidence.' I realize she's paraphrasing the privilege against self-incrimination. A seven-year-old is reciting back to me sections of the police caution. I was gobsmacked."

The audience laughs.

"It took me two hours to finally get this little girl to open up to me. I had to use some of the most sophisticated and complicated interrogation methods I knew. She is quite possibly the most difficult suspect I have ever had to question in my police career, to date."

Robert looks over at Stirling and smiles.

"It seems Miss Stirling Aylesworth had a best friend named Bertie in her class, a small boy who was picked on not only by his fellow classmates but also by his teacher. The previous day, she had punished Bertie for forgetting his homework at home and made him stand in the corner for two hours. He missed both his lunch and break time outside. Stirling thought this was unjust. She pleaded Bertie's case to the teacher but was ignored and warned she could be punished for insubordination. That was the word she used – insubordination. So, she decided to get even. If Bertie couldn't eat lunch, their teacher wouldn't be able to eat hers. She went home and bodged together a device, filling a heavy plastic bag with pig's blood she stole from her father, a veterinarian. These were samples he had picked up at farms across the region over the past week and were being stored in a refrigerator in his office. She sneaked into school early the next morning and hid the bag of blood in the staff refrigerator, secreting it in a storage hatch in the door. She rigged a tube with a small spray nozzle on the end and a tiny battery-operated pump. She even had a timer she made using a digital watch. The teachers came in, stored their snacks and lunches in the refrigerator, and went to class. And, exactly five minutes before first refreshment break, the timer on Stirling's little device went off and the entire contents of the refrigerator was sprayed with pig's blood."

Most of the people in the audience are either laughing or gazing at Stirling in fearful horror. She can just imagine what the Chief is thinking. Joe is laughing.

"She was a bloody genius," Robert says. "She did what every primary school kid in England has dreamed of doing at least once – getting even with their horrible, crusty, old school mistress. I just couldn't punish her. Instead, we talked about detonators and incendiary devices, the best way to make a timer using a digital watch and she explained to me, in depth, how handcuffs operated, including an idea she had for improving them."

The audience laughs.

"I'm pleased to say I was never again called in to handle an explosive device created by Miss Stirling Aylesworth. A few years later, I married her lovely sister, Emily. A year after, we became Stirling's legal guardians. And I had the honour and privilege of watching a skinny, gawky little girl with more brains than sense become the beautiful, accomplished lady you see before you today."

"You're a very lucky man, Joseph Penhale. And I'm sure you know it. What I also know is you will always treat our Stirling with love and respect – because now you know just how very well versed she is in making explosive devices."

The guests roar with laughter.

"Welcome to the family, Sergeant," Robert adds before he returns to his seat.

Stirling tries to kick him under the table but misses, stubbing her toe on a table leg instead.

"Why did you have to tell that story?" she whispers, leaning across the table toward Robert. "Couldn't you have told a nicer one, like the time I saved the wild bunnies or how I used to service and repair your police vehicle all the time? Now half the village thinks I'm bonkers!"

Joe pulls her back to his side. "No, ALL of the village thinks you're bonkers; they always have," he says, kissing her. "We like bonkers. I love bonkers." He kisses her again, ardently, once again accompanied by a chorus of whistles and foot stomping.

"This has to be the first wedding I've ever been to where no one has to ting a glass or sing a stupid song in order to get the bride and groom to kiss," Sam says, watching his brother kiss his bride again. "They just can't keep their hands or lips off each other."

The couple is so busy looking into each other's eyes, they fail to notice Michael walk past on his way to the stage area. It's only when he shouts "Oy!" into the microphone they turn to look. And Stirling instantly pales.

"Oh my god, no!" she whispers, looking wildly across the room at Christopher, who is grinning like a madman. She searches the room for Leyland but can't find him. She stands, intent on searching out the gentleman's gentleman, when Michael's voice stops her.

"Sit that fancy dressed arse down, Panda," he says ominously into the microphone, a glass of Scotch gripped in his right hand. "I have something I need to say."

The room is silent, every eye on Stirling as she slowly sits back down in her chair. She grips Joe's hand, white knuckled, as she watches Michael set his drink down on the podium and reach into his inner suit pocket, pulling out a thick sheaf of papers. He looks up suddenly.

"What am I thinking? I need my techie bloke. Where are you, mate?"

A young man comes into the room and walks up to Michael, explains a few items on the podium and then presses a button, which brings a movie screen down from the ceiling.

"Christy, it's just like at home!" Michael shouts out to Christopher, laughing and taking a big swallow of his Scotch.

"What are you doing Aubrey?" Sam heckles from the audience. "Are you going to show us some art films?"

Michael just gives him a dirty look.

The screen begins to glow with light and Stirling realizes she's looking at a rear projection screen. _What the hell is he doing? _she wonders.

The techie guy whispers a few more things to Michael and then scampers off.

"Good evening," Michael booms into the microphone. "For those who don't know me, I am Michael Aubrey, a friend of the beautiful bride, Dr. Stirling Mason Aylesworth. I'm sure I've met most of you in The Crab and Lobster at some time over the past year or so. I apologize in advance if I don't remember your name; I was probably rat arsed drunk at the time."

As the audience laughs, Stirling slowly sinks her face into her hands, afraid to watch. She wishes she could stick her fingers in her ears and shout "La, la, la, la" so she won't have to listen to the mortifying story Michael's probably about to share.

"When I was 17, I was a geeky, snobby member of the Eton Society and a Sixth Form Select. I pretty much looked like this."

Michael presses a button on the podium and the screen shows a photo taken of him in full Eton uniform, which included a black tailcoat, a white bow tie and winged collar, a burgundy waistcoat with silver buttons and black checked trousers. Many in the audience laugh, as the photo is a rather humourous one, showing Michael at a tall, gawky, awkward age with very closely cut hair, big ears and huge teeth that his mouth hadn't quite grown to accommodate.

Stirling smiles as she looks at the photo, remembering that time very well.

"Despite belonging to the best clubs and societies at Eton, I had very few friends and, although I was an excellent dancer, I had never actually danced with a girl. I was fairly skilled at most sport, including rugby, football, and cricket, even taking part in the annual match against Harrow."

He clicks to another photo showing him in cricket batting gear. "But my heart belonged to fencing." His third photo shows Michael in his fencing whites, foil in hand.

"During our weekends, the lads from Eton would have socials with local girls' schools, including Cheltenham Ladies College, Heathfield, St. Mary's and the infamous Wycombe Abbey. It was widely expected we would find our future wives during one of these social events and our parents always hoped it would be a girl from Wycombe. I hated the socials, feeling very much the odd-man out as my housemates danced with the prettiest birds and all of them ignored and avoided me. I was without hope. That is, until I met a spunky 13-year-old Wycombe girl who looked something like this."

The photo that appears next on the screen makes Stirling gasp. It's her, a 13-year-old version of Stirling, with curly auburn hair pulled back in a very tight pony tail, freckles, huge hazel eyes and a big grin, wearing her school uniform of a white collared shirt with dark blue tie, dark blue jacket and dark blue skirt.

Joe turns and looks at Stirling, squeezing her hand. She turns to look at him and he smiles. "That's you, isn't it?"

"Yes Joe, that is Miss Stirling Mason Aylesworth the Third of the Yorkshire Aylesworths," Michael says with a smile. He clicks to another picture of Stirling, face and riding apparel covered in mud but still grinning, clutching a multi-coloured Grand Champion ribbon and holding the reins of a huge, black horse. "She is fearless and daring." He clicks to another photo of Stirling, grinning and clutching a large trophy while being held aloft by the teammates of the Wycombe field hockey team. "She is beautiful." He clicks to a photo of Stirling wearing formal dressage riding apparel, including a top hat and tails, her hair back in a bun and a big smile on her face. "She loves fencing." The next picture is a famous one at Wycombe, showing Stirling leaping into the air in her fencing whites while gripping her foil, celebrating her match winning point against Michael. That was the year she fooled the competition administration and competed as a boy, with Michael's help, of course. "And she can kick my arse." The next photo shows Michael from that same day, his mask removed, his foil lowered in defeat, watching Stirling celebrate the win.

Michael pauses for a moment, looking down at his papers, which tremble in his hand. He clears his throat. "I can honestly say she saved my life."

Suddenly, Stirling feels a knot of emotion forming in her throat. She's having a hard time swallowing as her eyes fill with tears.

"She took a geeky, snobby, awkward frog and turned him into a prince." The next photo makes Stirling laugh through her tears. It shows she and Michael, dressed in formal wear for the annual Eton/Wycombe Ball, wearing the crowns and sash they won after being chosen the king and queen. She is hamming it up for the camera, trying to look much older and sexier than her 14-year-old self by showing off lots of leg and a hint of garter through the slit in her dress. Michael, looking extremely dapper in his tuxedo, is leaning over her shoulder, his arms wrapped around her waist, hugging her close.

"She became my best friend. And she still is." Michael looks up at her and smiles, tears openly falling down his cheeks. "We've had lots of adventures together." He clicks through several photos, pausing at each one to let the audience look at it and usually laugh. The first shows Stirling at Michael's graduation from Eton, up on his shoulders, holding a hand painted sign stating: Eton Sucks but Aubrey's Awesome. "She actually stood up in the audience and held that above her head when I went up to receive my diploma. The headmaster was not impressed." The next photo shows Michael standing beside Stirling at her graduation from Wycombe, holding a sign that reads: Wycombe Witches are Bitches but Stirling is Stellar. "I'm sure you can imagine what I did with that sign. The headmistress was not impressed." The third photo makes Stirling hide her face in embarrassment as it shows her in full slutty Met police uniform singing into a microphone at a club in London, Michael clinging to her leg like a little boy. "I'm sure Joe recognizes this particular Stirling look." Sam howls with laughter. The next photo shows Stirling standing next to Michael, biting on his Olympic bronze medal. "She spent a lot of time as my practice partner in the lead up to the 2004 Olympics." The photo after that gets a big laugh as it shows Christopher dressed as James Bond with Stirling hanging off his shoulder, wearing a tight, short mini dress with a daring slit, complete with a small pistol tucked into a holster on her upper thigh. "She introduced me to a wonderful man who has become my partner for life." The next photo shows both Michael and Christopher kissing Stirling on the cheek from opposite sides while she smiles and looks heavenward. It was taken at their wedding reception. "And she means the world to both of us."

Michael folds up his notes and tucks them away in his suit jacket. "I remember the first time I met Joe. It was in The Crab and Lobster and I wasn't all that sober, which tends to happen to me when celebrating with Stirling. He informed me I was being rather loud and disruptive. I thought he was an uptight wanker."

The audience laughs uproariously.

"I was going to use one of my favourite lawyer tricks on him, a manoeuvre Stirling likes to call the Aubrey Treatment. But she saved him from my wrath, told me she liked him and I was to leave him alone. I had a sneaking suspicion I was going to see more of that uptight wanker in the future and I was right."

Stirling smiles as she wipes her eyes with a tissue.

"There have been other men whom have tried to win the heart of our Stirling and I have watched most of them fail miserably. I also watched one almost succeed in destroying her. Not surprisingly, it was Joe and a rather large, annoying dog with a fondness for Cuban cigars that ended up saving the damsel and the day. And Joe won her heart."

"I'd like to take this moment to propose a toast to the groom. To Joe! Welcome to our little family. And please continue taking wonderful care of our Stirling."

Everyone in the room raises a glass and repeats "To Joe."

Before he can walk away from the podium, Stirling leaps up from her seat and runs to Michael, who picks her up and kisses her on the cheek. "I love you, pansy boy," she whispers in his ear.

"I love you, manky tart," he whispers back. He sets her down and kisses her on the other cheek before shaking hands with Joe and pulling him into a big bear hug. Stirling laughs as Michael almost crushes her new husband, eventually giving him a sloppy drunk kiss on the cheek.

"Go sit down, you idiot," she says, giving Michael a push back toward his table.

She's about to tell the audience to prepare for the entertainment portion of the evening when Sam leaps up and cuts her off from the microphone. "I'll handle it," he assures her, having her sit back down at the table next to Joe.


	29. Chapter 29

Sam grabs the microphone.

"As I was sitting at my table listening to Robert and Aubrey welcome Joe to Stirling's family, I felt inspired to do the same for Stirling," he says, pulling something from his pocket and setting it on the podium. "I will always remember the first time I saw her. It was a Friday evening in Bristol almost two years ago."

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Joe and Stirling look at each other in alarm and start motioning to Sam to stop talking. "Shut up," Joe says in stage whisper. Sam ignores them. Horrified, Stirling watches and waits.

"She was up on stage singing her heart out wearing this little police costume, very similar to the one Aubrey showed during his speech. I was eventually introduced to her and made a habit of chatting her up every Friday and Saturday when she and her band, Strip Search, performed at my neighbourhood pub. I was in love."

The audience begins to grumble and mumble, confused by Sam's words. Doc Stirling was a singer in a pub band? He met her first? Bristol? He was in love with her?

"I invited my little brother to meet her and what happened – well – it's probably best if I just show you."

Sam reaches underneath the podium and makes a few connections before pressing a button and glancing at the screen. Suddenly, it fills with an amazingly sharp image of Stirling in full sexy Metropolitan Police uniform, knee high boots and all. And then, to her horror, the image starts moving and singing, I Want You To Want Me.

An audible gasp can be heard throughout the dining room.

"He stole my mobile," Joe whispers, patting at his dress uniform pockets in a panic. "The blooding wanker stole my mobile."

"I told you! I told you!" a voice is heard on the recording shouting over her singing. The footage vibrates rapidly for a few seconds, the camera shifting so the audience can see part of Sam's face grinning at whoever is behind the lens. The camera pans back to the stage, showing Stirling singing and dancing sexy for a growing crowd of men, some trying to climb on the stage but being pushed back by members of the band. The camera zooms in on a middle-aged man licking Stirling's boots.

The audience in the reception hall gasps in shock.

"Is it always like this?" a voice that is clearly Joe's asks.

The audience gasps again, recognizing his voice.

The footage is horribly embarrassing for Stirling, who hides her face in mortification against Joe's chest. She can feel the eyes of judgment on her from all around the room. She has always been somewhat relieved that it wasn't common knowledge around the village that she used to be a singer in a pub band. And Joe has always kept her secret, never telling anyone about the night he first met her and about the mind-numbing kiss they shared.

"You filmed me that night?" she whispers.

Joe is red faced. "I'm so sorry," he whispers back. "I had no idea he would steal my mobile."

In the recording, the camera zooms in close on Stirling, her police cap pulled low on her forehead, her hair back in a severe bun, her black lacy bra and cleavage on display for all to see as she sings into the microphone. She rubs her back and bum up against the lead guitarist in a sexy dance before leaning forward at the waist to run her hand slowly from the heel of her boot all the way up her body, causing the pub crowd to go wild.

"Bloody hell!" Joe says on the recording, the camera spinning to show his face sitting at a table. "She's gorgeous," he says emphatically, looking straight into the lens. "Absolutely gorgeous!"

The audience in the reception hall laughs.

"But you've kept it all this time?" Stirling asks Joe in a whisper.

Joe's face becomes even redder. "I used to play it sometimes to remind myself it wasn't some strange dream, that you were real and we had actually met that night."

Stirling stares up at him in wonder, wanting to kiss him badly but knowing everyone in the room is watching her acting like a slapper on the screen.

On the recording, Joe and Sam are talking about Stirling and Sam's lack of luck getting to know her. The screen goes dark for a second as the recording ends but new footage starts almost immediately, showing Stirling, wearing a long cardigan and holding a glass of ice water, walking toward the camera.

She looks over at Joe. "You recorded this as well?" she asks, feeling somewhat violated. Joe turns and looks at her, giving her that sheepish smile that usually makes her heart melt in forgiveness. She's not feeling very forgiving at the moment.

"Hello Sam," she says on the recording. "I haven't seen you in more than a fortnight. Where have you been hiding?"

The camera shifts until it shows all of Stirling from the waist up sitting at the table, her cardigan gaping open and her chest on display.

"I've been busy getting some overtime hours. I'd like you to meet my kid brother Joe. Joe, this is Stirling."

"Nice to meet you Joe," she says, obviously looking at him and shaking his hand. Her breasts wobble in the footage.

_Oh my god_, she thinks as she watches and cringes.

The footage seems to go on forever as they chat and laugh and joke, Sam blatantly flirting with Stirling and she subtly flirting with Joe. And then he begins talking about Portwenn and her eyes begin to shine and she leans forward with interest.

The audience in the reception hall is mesmerized watching her almost glow with excitement as he describes the incident with the primary school headmaster.

"Porphyria," Stirling says quietly on the recording.

"That's exactly what the Doc said he had," says Joe, surprise and admiration obvious in his voice.

"Sounds like an intelligent GP."

"He is. Dr. Ellingham's probably one of the smartest people in Portwenn. He's been great for the village."

"Dr. Ellingham? Dr. Martin Ellingham?"

The reception audience mumbles in surprise.

"Why? Do you know him?" asks Joe.

"I've heard of him. But I've never actually met him.

They talk about the Doc and the medical practice and Stirling suddenly shouts "Aces!" on the recording, causing everyone in the reception hall to jump just like everyone in the pub had that night.

And then the audience gasps as Stirling leans forward and obviously kisses Joe, who is behind the camera. The lens frames an extreme close-up down her top, causing some tittering in the reception hall.

"Thank you," she says on the recording.

"Thank-thank-thank you," a stuttering Joe can be heard answering, causing more laughter from the wedding audience.

The camera shows Stirling jumping down from her chair and sauntering away from the table, digging in the back pocket of her tight shorts for her mobile phone. The camera lens zooms in on her swaying arse, causing laughter to erupt again.

"You jammy bastard," Sam says on the recording.

"You just have to know how to talk to woman," answers Joe, sparking very loud laughter in the reception hall.

And then a loud bang and shout can be heard, along with laughter from Sam.

"Smooth. Really smooth."

The screen goes black and Sam is about to shut the camera off when another recording starts showing Joe in civilian clothes looking into the mirror of the upstairs loo while holding his mobile, obviously recording himself.

"I want to show you something really exciting and brilliant!" he says, emotion in his voice.

Stirling looks over at her new husband and notices he has gone completely pale.

_Uh oh!_ she thinks.

The footage is jumpy and vibrates wildly as Joe appears to carry the mobile out of the loo and down the hall.

"We have to be very quiet," he whispers.

The door of what looks like their bedroom at the police station opens and Stirling can see herself lying on the bed. _Thank god I have clothes on_, she thinks, realizing the footage is actually from earlier in the week; the afternoon of New Year's Day.

Joe slowly walks into the room and comes to the side of the bed, the camera zooming in on her sleeping face. Some people in the audience giggle nervously.

"I just have to make an adjustment," Joe whispers, setting down the mobile for a moment. Rustling can be heard in the background. Then the camera is moving again.

"Look at this," he whispers, zooming in on Stirling's bare belly. He's lifted up her shirt and is filming her stomach's outline from the side, showing a very round and obvious baby bump.

The reception hall gasps and then goes silent.

"Isn't that amazing?" Joe says on the recording, reaching out and gently touching Stirling's belly. "There's a baby in there. You're in there – Mason Joseph Aylesworth Penhale."

The camera turns and shows Joe's face as he speaks into the lens. "I can't wait to finally meet you," he says before turning the camera back toward Stirling and zooming in on her relaxed, sleeping face. "And neither can your mummy."

The screen goes black.

The room is silent for a very long moment until Sam leans toward the microphone. "Holy shit! Welcome to the family Stirling!" he shouts. "I'm going to be an uncle!"

He gives a whoop of excitement and soon everyone in the room is applauding and whistling.

Stirling is feeling so many emotions – anger, embarrassment, affection, sadness, happiness and, overwhelmingly, fear. She slowly turns her head to look at her sister. Roberta is grinning like an idiot as is young Richard, both of them looking at her. Robert just looks like he's in shock but Emily, Emily looks like she's ready to commit murder.

"How could you?" she hisses across the table at Stirling, who feels her eyes immediately begin to fill with tears. "You stupid, stupid, stupid girl!"

"Emily!" Robert says sharply, reaching for his wife's arm. She yanks it out of his grip as she stands up.

"After everything I've been through. After everything I told you and did for you. Everyone says you're a genius but you're nothing but a silly fool!"

"Wait a minute," Joe says nervously, standing up and moving Stirling behind him as Emily shifts around the table toward them. "Why don't we discuss this like adults?"

"You swore on our mother's grave," Emily shouts, her hands gripped into fists. "You broke a vow you made over our mum's dead body."

The reception hall quiets as people notice the disruption at the bride and groom's table.

"Emily, calm down," says Robert softly, slowly trailing behind his wife as she moves around the table. The teenagers and Joe's mother watch in disbelief.

"Mum?" Roberta says, standing up.

"Stay out of this!" Emily snarls, glancing quickly over her shoulder at her trembling daughter.

She turns back toward the couple and Joe pushes Stirling even further behind him. Emily walks right up to him, poking him hard in the chest with her finger. "And you! You're no better! Just like every man – thinking with your John Thomas rather than your brain!"

"Well, I don't think that's a fair assess –," Joe says, promptly falling silent as Emily slaps him hard across the face and then slaps him again, this time from the other side.

Everyone in the room gasps.

As Rob grabs Emily from behind, pulling her away from the couple, Stirling steps in front of Joe to examine his face. She turns to Christopher, who suddenly appears beside her. "I'm going to need ice," she says. He quickly rushes off.

"That really bloody well hurt," Joe says, reaching up to touch his face. "She didn't break my jaw, did she?"

Stirling grabs a linen napkin from the table. "She scratched you," she whispers, dipping the napkin end in a glass of water and gently wiping his left cheek. Spots of blood appear on the napkin's surface, making Joe feel a bit queasy.

"Is that blood?" he asks, wavering slightly.

Stirling pushes him back down into his chair and continues cleaning the wound. "It's not much," she mutters. "Hopefully, I won't need to do a transfusion."

Joe looks up at her, wide-eyed and pale. She bends down and softly kisses him on the forehead. "I'm joking," she whispers.

Christopher is back with some ice, which she wraps in a clean napkin and gently places against Joe's right cheek.

"You hold that there," she says softly, placing his hand on the makeshift ice pack.

She turns to Christopher. "Can you fetch my doctor's bag? It's clipped to the Triumph, which I believe is parked just outside the front entrance."

As Christopher jogs out the door, Stirling turns to watch Robert and Michael struggling with her sister, who is fast approaching all out hysteria. Roberta is openly crying as she watches her mother fighting to free herself from Robert and Michael's grip. Richard looks pale and haunted.

"Are you okay to sit here for a moment?" she asks Joe, blotting at his scratched cheek again.

"I'm fine," he says. "It was just a bit of a slap."

"Keep the ice on your cheek and I'll be back in a moment," she says, turning away.

"Stirling!" Joe calls.

She turns back immediately, crouching down in front of him "Yes?"

He reaches out and cups the side of her face tenderly. "I'm really sorry she found out this way," he says. "I just wanted to record something we could watch in the future, show our baby how much we loved him and anticipated his arrival. I didn't know my wanker brother was going to steal my mobile and show everyone. I'm so sorry, Cheeky."

She smiles at him. "I don't know what it is but there's something … I just can't stay angry at you. It's not your fault. I know you didn't mean for it to happen. It will all work out, don't worry."

She kisses him how she has wanted to since he tried to explain to her why he had kept the mobile recording of her singing. It's a long kiss, a sweet kiss, a kiss with the promise of even more kissing in the future. Her lips tingle as she gently pulls away from his.

"I'll be back in a minute," she whispers.

She turns and strides toward her sister, who is still struggling with Robert and Michael. There is very little semblance of order and control in the reception hall as people mill about, trying to help. Stirling can see the Doc, struggling to move through the crowd to reach Emily. As the bride, she decides to just plow her way through. _It's my wedding being ruined_, she thinks. _They can get the hell out of my way._

When she reaches the struggling trio, she grabs Emily by the shoulders and shouts her name. "Look at me," she yells, trying to get her older sister to respond. Nothing. She hauls back and slaps her.

Everyone quiets, including Emily, shocked by Stirling's actions.

"Emily," she says sharply, giving her a shake. "Look at me."

Her sister slowly moves her head until her eyes are looking into her sister's. "Ling?" she asks softly, making Stirling smile. Emily hasn't called her that since she was a little girl, following her big sister all over the farm and the surrounding moor, being a horrible pest.

"You zoned out," she explains. "And then had a fit of some sort. What's the last thing you remember?"

Emily thinks for a moment, her eyes beginning to fill with tears. "I remember realizing that you were pregnant," she says softly, looking down at Stirling's belly. She tries to reach out with her hand but Robert and Michael stop her.

"Let her go; it's okay," Stirling says to the pair. They let go of Emily's arms and she reaches out to touch her sister's rounded belly. She smiles, looking at Stirling's face with wonder.

"How far along are you?" she asks.

Stirling hesitates for just a moment. "Eighteen weeks," she says.

Emily looks at her sadly. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I didn't want to upset you. I know how you are when it becomes too stressful. I didn't want to do that to you. But it seems I ended up doing it anyway. Joe and I had agreed to tell everyone tonight but this certainly isn't how we planned to do it."

Emily looks over Stirling's shoulder at Joe, who still has ice pressed against his right cheek. Christopher has arrived with the doctor's bag and is busy digging for antibiotic ointment and a plaster. "What happened to Joe?" she asks.

"You slapped him silly, Em," Stirling says truthfully. "If I'm lucky, I can keep the swelling down so he doesn't end up having a black eye in all our honeymoon photos."

"I'm so sorry," Emily sobs, covering her mouth with a trembling hand.

"It's okay; he'll live." She glances at her brother-in-law. "Why don't you go for a little walk with Robert and clear your head," she suggests. "I think you'll feel much better."

"Oh Rob!" Emily cries, turning to her husband. He gently puts his arm around her and leads her out the reception hall door.

"All right, show's over," Stirling says, shooing everyone back to the tables.

"Is that a common occurrence?" the Doc asks, walking over to Stirling.

"She had a nervous breakdown not long after I went away to boarding school. She eventually recovered but when life becomes stressful or she receives a shock, she can relapse or experience a fit of rage, similar to what you just witnessed. When she comes out of it, she can usually remember what triggered the episode but not her actions while having it."

"Interesting," the Doc says.

Stirling grunts, causing him to look at her in surprise. "Try living it or being the target of her rage. The 'interesting' part wears off very quickly." She turns to walk back to her table.

"That was also a very interesting video of you singing," he says. "You never told me you had met Penhale before you arrived here."

She doesn't want to talk about this now. "I have an injured husband to look after!" she says, hurrying away.

She's surprised to find that Christopher has handled most of Joe's treatment, including applying ointment to his scratch, covering it with a plaster and getting more ice to ease the swelling on the left side of his face.

"How are you feeling?" she asks, kneeling down in front of Joe and moving the ice pack so she can check his right cheek. "The swellings gone down. Hopefully it won't bruise." The other side of his face she's not too sure of.

"Stop fussing," Joe says to her. "I'm fine."

She kisses him on the nose. "I told you there would be reciprocal fussing," she says softly.

"The way you're carrying on, you'd swear it was the first time I've been slapped across the face. I'm afraid this is nothing new for me."

Stirling gives him a surprised look. "Really? Do tell."

He smiles ruefully, flinching as the movement of his facial muscles makes his cut cheek hurt. "As I'm sure you're aware, I don't always bring out the best in other people. Sometimes I just annoy the hell out of them and they lash out, resulting in a stinging cheek for me and an assaulting a police officer charge for them."

She tries not to laugh but it's difficult.

"I'm glad my face slapping stories amuse you, Dr. Aylesworth."

Suddenly, a sheepish looking Sam shoves a mobile phone into Joe's face. "I believe this belongs to you," he says.

"Speaking of charges," Stirling mutters as Joe grabs his mobile and shoves it in one of his uniform jacket pockets.

"Joe, Stirling I'm sorry. I didn't realize it was going to cause problems for you. I was just trying to tease Joe and have some fun."

"Yes, I'm going to have lots of fun on our honeymoon explaining why my husband looks like someone beat him about the face," she says sarcastically.

"I'm really sorry, Stirling. How can I make it up to you?"

She looks around the reception hall, which has descended into chaos. "Get the entertainment going and help move this bloody reception back on track."

"Done," Sam says, heading for the microphone.

Ten minutes later, Stirling is amazed at how much he has accomplished. Tables and chairs have been shifted to form a dance floor, Duncan and the boys are set up and ready, the bar is hopping while wait staff wander the room with glasses of champagne and red wine. At their table, a large jug of ice water has been set along with a glass, just for her.

Joe has set down his ice packs, insisting he will get frostbite if he leaves them pressed against his cheeks much longer. "I can't feel my face as it is," he says. He and Stirling wander the room, chatting with guests, receiving congratulations for both the "beautiful wedding" and the "wonderful news."

Stirling glances occasionally toward the main door, wondering how Emily is doing. Hopefully Robert is helping her work through her guilt and anger. Joe keeps his body in contact with hers at all times, either touching her arm, gripping her around the waist or holding one of her hands. It helps her feel secure.

She is startled when she hears Sam say their names. "Everyone, it's that time," he announces into the microphone. "It's time for Joe and Stirling to start off the evening with their first dance together as a married couple."

She looks at Joe and he smiles, escorting her to the dance floor. As she prepares to dance, adjusting her train so she doesn't trip over it, she hears Duncan introducing the band on the stage.

"Stirling is an old friend of Strip Search and has helped us out from time to time with lead vocals, piano, acoustic guitar, and even saxophone. So, being the brave woman she is, she left the choice of first song for Joe and her up to me." He smiles down at Stirling. "I hope you enjoy my choice."

She is surprised to see him sit down in front of an upright piano, not typically Duncan's style. But as she hears him play the first few notes, she smiles and melds her body to Joe's as he leads her in a very slow waltz. "It's You and I," she whispers in his ear as they slowly dance together. He gives her a puzzled look.

"The song; it's You and I by Stevie Wonder," she explains. "It's been rerecorded several times by Shirley Bassey, Barbra Streisand, Michael Buble and, most recently, by George Michael for Prince William and Kate."

"Shhh," he says, laughing. "Just enjoy the song."

He holds her close as she settles her head against his right shoulder. Stirling closes her eyes, enjoying the music, the sound of the piano, Duncan's voice. She hums along softly, making Joe smile.

Other couple's join them on the dance floor but they barely notice, cocooned in their own little world, containing just the two of them and the music. Joe tips his head down and she feels his lips touch hers. The kiss starts off soft and gentle but becomes full of need as it lengthens. Soon, they are no longer dancing, clutching one another instead. Their embrace becomes even closer than it already is.

When they finally move apart, the song has ended and the other couples on the dance floor are watching them and clapping. Stirling blushes, tipping down her chin in embarrassment. Joe lifts her head back up with one finger.

"You never need to be embarrassed being caught having a kiss," he whispers in her ear, making her smile. He kisses her again.

"Can we leave now?" she asks him, kissing under his ear.

He laughs. "Just a little while longer, Cheeky."

The evening feels like it's crawling by as she dances with almost every man and woman who attended the reception; at least, that's how her feet feel. Joe is also kept busy dancing with a long line of women, which makes her smile. She even enjoys a song with the Doc, who is actually a very skilled dancer. Duncan and the boys convince her to climb up on stage a few times and perform some songs with them, most of which she dedicates to Joe.

Finally, around 10:30 at night, after cutting the cake and mushing each other in the face with it, Joe whispers to her it's probably time to get changed to go. "I can't wait to get you out of that wedding dress," he whispers huskily in her ear. She shivers in excitement.

He leads her to a small bedroom down a back hall away from the reception hall. The clothes they both chose to change into are waiting there. He shuts and locks the door behind them and turns to look at her.

"Finally I'm alone with my new bride," he says softly, slowly approaching her and kissing his way down her neck to her bare shoulders. She hums deep in her throat in appreciation.

"You look so beautiful in this dress," he whispers. "Turn around." She does as he tells her, feeling his hands begin to pull down the zipper in the back. "But I know you will look even more stunning out of it." She unbuckles the thin belt at her waist, as the zipper is pulled lower. Eventually, the dress falls away from her breasts and her body, landing in a heap on the floor.

She hears Joe draw in a breath of excitement. "Tu-turn around," he says, a bit of a stutter to his voice. She steps out of the pool of material and turns, watching as he almost vibrates with sexual hunger. "Bloody hell!" he whispers, his eyes moving from her pale ivory strapless bra, which is just managing to contain her breasts, down to the matching ivory panties, garter and sexy stockings the garter is holding up.

"Come here," he demands, his voice becoming more assured.

She walks toward him and, as soon as she is within reach, he grabs her and pulls her body to his. His lips are against hers, pushing, prodding, wanting all of her mouth, needing it. His hands are on her back and arse, pulling her hard against him. With trembling fingers, she begins to undo the shiny buttons of his dress tunic. It's soon on the floor with her dress. She moves down to his belt, unbuckling it and undoing his trousers. They too are soon pooled in a pile on the floor.

He steps away from the trousers, wearing only a pair of silk black boxers and his socks. Her hands move down over his bum, enjoying the feel of the silk and making him groan. "That feels so soft," she whispers, her breath hitching in her throat in excitement as she massages the material with her fingers.

"Oh my god," he groans, making Stirling smile. "Isn't that my line?" she jokes, tracing her hands up his body, feeling him shiver.

"I want to throw you down on the bed and have a shag," he says unabashedly.

"What's stopping you?" she asks, before sucking on his bottom lip.

"I don't want you to take off those stockings," he moans.

"I don't have to," she explains softly, taking his hands and putting them at the waist of her panties. "Pull them down."

She feels her silk panties descend from covering her fanny and bum and move down her legs. Joe bends down, kissing her rounded belly while he pulls her panties lower. She steps out of them, balancing against his body while she does so.

Joe is positively shaking with excitement as he moves her backwards, the soft skin behind her knees eventually brushing against the bed. His hands caress her back, unclipping her bra, which he tosses with the rest of their clothing. Then he slowly pulls each of the long, fingerless gloves from her arms.

"Lie down," he whispers, biting her ear lobe.

As Stirling lowers her body to the bed, she pushes down his boxer shorts. While she's bent over, she removes his socks as well. She sighs contentedly as she lies back against the pillows of the bed, her arms relaxed above her head, looking up at Joe with eyes full of desire.

"You are so beautiful," he rumbles in a sexy voice, lowering himself beside her on the bed. He pulls her body to him, wrapping his arms around her, kissing her, caressing her. He rolls on to her body, wanting to dominate her, possess her completely. She cries out her passion as they come together as one.


	30. Chapter 30

Almost 45 minutes after they went in, Stirling and Joe exit the bedroom and walk back out to the reception hall dressed to travel on the Triumph.

"Took you two long enough," Sam yells over the music from across the room, making Stirling blush. She was apprehensive about leaving the bedroom, knowing everyone would be able to tell what she and Joe had been doing in there for so long, even without noticing her lips swollen from kissing, the stubble rash on her face and the heightened post-coital colour in her cheeks.

Joe tried to reassure her, finding it interesting that such a passionate woman could possess so much concern about what others were imagining a newly married couple were doing behind closed doors.

"I may be passionate but I'm also a private person," she explained.

"There's not much you can keep private in Portwenn," he answered as they lay on the bed, naked in each other's arms.

"I'm well aware."

So as she walks into the reception hall, she does her best to shake off her embarrassment, holding tightly to Joe's hand and searching for Emily and Robert. She is relieved to see them sitting together in a quiet corner with Roberta and Richard.

"I'm just going to say goodbye to Em and Robert," she says into Joe's ear. He nods his head and she turns and walks toward them.

"We're leaving soon," she says, standing by their table. "I wanted to come over and say goodbye. You're welcome to stay on at the surgery for a few more days if you like. The Chief will be seeing patients during the day but it shouldn't be an issue."

"I think it's time we went home," Robert says. "We've been away long enough, although I admit I have enjoyed your Cornwall. And meeting your Joe."

Stirling smiles and hugs him. "Thank you, Robert."

She hugs her niece and her nephew, thanking them for coming down to visit her.

"You're always welcome to come back for a visit anytime. Maybe during school break?

Finally, she turns to her sister, who looks pale and haunted.

"I love you Emily," she says gently. "I always have and I always will. You're my big sister. It doesn't matter what you do or say; I will always forgive you. Maybe it's time you learned to forgive yourself."

Stirling holds her sobbing sister in her arms, gently patting her back.

"I love you too, Ling," Emily says. "I'm so sorry about what happened."

"I know. But it's over. Put it behind you and move on. I have."

She steps back and looks at her little family. "I love you guys. Have a safe trip home and I'll talk to you when I get back, which will be around the end of the month."

Stirling joins Joe to say goodbye to the rest of the guests, hugging Sam and Edna before being mauled by Michael and Christopher, whom are both crying. She also hugs Leyland, Morwenna, Al, Louisa and the Chief plus so many others, she loses track.

"We really need to go," Joe finally says, dragging her out the door.

He helps her buckle on her helmet and settles her on the back of the Triumph before putting on his own helmet and climbing on. The bike easily roars to life on the first kick.

"Bye," Stirling calls, waving. "We'll see you in a fortnight."

With a roar of power, the Triumph drives down the lane, turning onto the roadway toward Lanivet. Soon the reception hall is just a bright light behind them and eventually even that disappears.

* * *

Although they have only a short distance to travel, it's almost midnight by the time Joe and Stirling reach St. Benet's Abbey, the guesthouse where they are staying for the first night of their honeymoon.

Joe parks the Triumph in a spot near the back of the main building. Sam and Robert were by earlier in the day to pick up the key to the garden room, knowing the couple wouldn't be arriving until very late in the evening.

Stirling is shivering as she steps off the motorcycle. Even with gloves on, her fingers are clumsy and numb as she struggles to unbuckle her helmet. Joe is already unlocking the private, outside door to their room when she finally manages to get the helmet off her head.

She lets out a small scream of surprise as she is lifted off her feet and into Joe's arms. She covers her mouth in horror and giggles as her scream echoes off the surrounding buildings.

"Keep it down you crazy woman," Joe says laughing. "Or do I have to cover your mouth with mine?"

"Please do!" Stirling whispers, leaning forward in his arms to be kissed. He dips his head down and gently touches his lips to hers. Somehow, he manages to carry her through the doorway into their room while they continue to snog. He eventually pulls back from her, breathless, and turns on the light switch using his elbow.

"It's beautiful!" Stirling gasps, admiring the large antique four-poster bed, covered in brightly coloured throw pillows, and the wood fireplace, already laid out with paper and kindling in preparation for lighting. She can't wait to see the loo.

"Yes, beautiful," Joe says, looking directly into her eyes as he sets her gently on the bed. His lips meld with hers as he lies beside her, cupping the back of neck with one hand while caressing and rubbing her body with the other.

She groans her appreciation as she shivers against his body. He shivers as her hands touch his face. "You're freezing, Cheeky," he says.

She nods her head.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

She smiles. "I didn't really get the chance," she says laughing. "One minute I'm being carried through the door and suddenly I'm on the bed and my sexy husband is making out with me."

"I'll get the fire started," Joe says, rising from the mattress. "And then I'll bring the luggage in from the Triumph. You just lay there and relax," he adds.

"This is decadent," she says, watching Joe check to make sure the fireplace flue is open before lighting a long match and touching it to several sections of crumpled paper and kindling. She pulls off her high motorcycle boots and drops them at the end of the bed.

"Just relax," Joe tells her again as he carries in the large duffel bag. After double checking the Triumph, he shuts and locks the door. The fire is crackling merrily and he stops to feed a few dry logs to it from a tall stack beside the fireplace.

"Let me take your coat," he says to Stirling, who unsnaps her heavy leather jacket and then unzips it. She shrugs out of the long sleeves and hands it to Joe. He hangs it on a coat rack just inside the door along with his own jacket. He finally pulls off his boots and sets them by the coat rack before snagging Stirling's and setting them there as well.

"How are you feeling, beautiful?" he asks, sitting on the edge of the bed beside her. "Are you hungry?

She shakes her head.

"Are you tired?"

She thinks for a moment. "Not really." she admits. "I'm too excited and keyed up. I also have something to tell you. I was going to show you earlier but I decided I'd wait until we were alone together."

"This sounds interesting," he says, turning to face her, sitting cross-legged on the bed. She turns to face him, taking up the same cross-legged position.

She's about to open her mouth when he reaches out a finger and touches it to her lips. "Wait," he whispers, leaning forward and pulling her toward him, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her passionately. "I think I want to be naked with you in my arms before you tell me your news," he says tenderly. "What do you think, the bed or the fireplace?"

Stirling looks between the two and starts tossing pillows and cushions toward the floor in front of the flames. "Let's start in front of the fireplace and move to the bed later," she says, kissing him with force and feeling. They soon have each others' shirts off and Joe has her trousers half off, excited and distracted by the stockings and garter belt she has left on underneath.

"These are gorgeous," he murmurs, running his fingers underneath the tops of her silk stockings, playing with the garter straps that hang down and clip on to hold the stockings up. He eventually pulls her trousers completely off, throwing them over the end of the bed. She lies back on the soft mattress and giggles as he tickles her upper thighs with the light touch of his gentle fingers.

"I thought we were going to lie in front of the fireplace," she says, wiggling as he tickles her.

He stands up and pulls her up against his body. "Are you in a hurry?" he asks, kissing her neck and shoulders, heading lower.

"No, not really" she says breathlessly, enjoying the feeling of his lips on her body. "I just wanted to be able to do this," she says, unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his trousers, slowly pushing her hands inside of them to pull them down his lower body. She shivers as her hands glide over his soft silk boxers. Once they're all the way down, Joe kicks out of them and removes his socks.

Kissing her passionately, he moves Stirling closer to the fireplace and she soon finds herself snuggling with him in a nest of pillows and cushions on the floor, a light blanket over both their bodies.

"What was it you wanted to tell me?" Joe asks, his lips travelling over her belly, his hands caressing the round shape.

"I can feel the baby moving," she says, her body humming under his touch.

"What?" he asks, stopping and looking up at her with a surprised look on his face.

She opens her eyes and smiles at him. "I can feel the baby moving. I felt him for the first time last night."

"Really?" he asks excitedly. He tentatively puts his hand on her belly. "Is it happening right now? Will I be able to feel him?"

Stirling nods her head. "Oh yes, he's moving right now, quite a lot actually. I don't know if you'll be able to feel him. I couldn't feel him by touching my belly last night but the movements are much stronger tonight."

She gently takes his hand and moves it to the area of her stomach where the most action is occurring. "Try right here, hand flat, just a bit of pressure."

Joe lies beside her, holding her close, his hand on her tummy. He feels a light nudge against his fingers.

"Did he just move?"

Stirling nods her head.

"I felt him!" he says excitedly. "I can feel our baby moving!"

She smiles, enjoying his enthusiasm. He smiles back, obviously very delighted, and kisses her numerous times. He puts his hand back on her belly, hoping to feel more. She shifts his hand just slightly and he gasps as he feels an even stronger nudge.

"Does he move all the time?" he asks.

"Since I've started noticing, it seems that way but he also has long periods when he's sleeping or resting, usually when I'm relaxed – like in the tub – or in the same position for a long time. He fell asleep on the ride here. It might have been the motion or sound of the motorcycle, I'm not sure. And based on what I've observed so far, shagging sets him off."

Joe gives her a strange look. "What do you mean?"

"Back at the reception hall and now here, when we start messing around, getting aroused, he becomes very active. My stomach feels like what I imagine the inside of a pinball machine must feel like. He's bouncing around everywhere."

Joe looks concerned. "Maybe we should cut back?" he suggests.

Stirling looks horrified. "I don't think so! It is perfectly safe to have sexual intercourse while pregnant. Later in the pregnancy, it is actually encouraged. The cervix is sealed and the baby is well protected in the uterus. We'd have to be involved in some really wild and violent shagging for it to be a risk to the baby."

"How wild and violent?"

Stirling gives Joe a suspicious look. "Is there something you've been meaning to tell me?"

"No! I was just curious."

"I'm thinking whips and chains, high intensity, foreign object, BDSM sex wouldn't be advisable for a pregnant woman," she says.

"BDSM?"

"Really?" she asks. "Bondage, discipline, dominance, submission, sadism and masochism. It's an overlapping abbreviation."

He gives her a strange look.

"I'm a doctor, Joe," she says with a laugh. "I know about these things. Sometimes I'm required to treat patients who are involved in this kind of sexual role playing or lifestyle."

"In Portwenn?" he says, shocked.

"You know I can't answer that question. How did we move from the exciting topic of being able to feel our baby moving to the possibility of people living in Portwenn being involved in BDSM sex?" She laughs, snuggling closer to Joe and kissing down his neck, biting at his shoulder. "You better behave or I'll be forced to spank you," she growls.

"What?" he says, moving his bum farther away from her.

Stirling laughs. "Or tickle you without mercy," she says, moving her fingers to his underarms and the back of his knees.

Joe lets out a screech just like a little girl as he struggles to keep her from tickling him. "No! Stop!" he says, laughing as she climbs on top of him. She stops for a moment, letting him catch his breath before she leans down and kisses him, melting her lips and her body to his. They both moan with excitement and Joe finds himself running his hand up and down Stirling's legs, shivering with desire as he touches her silk stockings and garter belt. Meanwhile, she caresses the soft silk material of his boxer shorts, slowly pulling them down over his hips, along his legs and off at his feet. Aroused, he quickly discards her bra and slides her panties off as well.

Together, they snuggle deeper into the scattered cushions as the flickering light from the fireplace dances over their entwined bodies.

* * *

It's her full and painful bladder that eventually awakens Stirling. She opens her eyes to greyish light filtering in through the curtained windows. She feels incredibly content and snug in her nest of blankets on the soft four-poster bed but the pressure in her bladder pushes her out of the warm cocoon. She dashes into the loo.

Several minutes later, she walks out and realizes she's alone. "Joe?" she calls softly, immediately feeling silly considering she can see the entire room from where she's standing and he's obviously not in it. She does check the other side of the bed, just in case he fell out and knocked himself unconscious – _It could happen_, she thinks. She even goes so far as to check under the bed – _With Joe, you just never know_, she thinks, trying to justify her bizarre actions.

As she bends over to pick up Joe's shirt from last night, she notices the fireplace is crackling merrily with fresh wood. _He obviously was in the room recently_, she considers as she puts the thick cotton shirt on, buttoning up the front. It fits her like a short nightgown, just covering her bum.

She peeks through the curtains covering one of the windows and notes the Triumph is still parked outside. _He can't of wandered too far away_, she thinks.

Stretching and yawning, Stirling smiles as she feels a strong nudge low in her belly. "Someone else is awake," she whispers, pressing a hand against her rounded stomach to feel the baby's movements. Feeling tired, she climbs back into bed, snuggling under the blankets and duvet, as she waits for Joe.

She's almost asleep when she hears the door open. She sits up and watches as Joe walks in carrying several brown paper bags that smell wonderful. He quietly shuts the door and tiptoes further into the room. He stops when he notices she's awake.

"There's my missing husband," she says smiling. "For a brief moment, I thought you might have run off and abandoned me, having come to your senses in the night."

He sets the bags on the small table near the window and walks over to the bed. "I'd never run off on you," he says softly, leaning over to give her a gentle kiss. "You'd just hunt me down anyway."

She laughs and grabs the collar of his shirt, pulling him on to the bed on top of her. She kisses him possessively. "Good morning," she says, practically purring with contentment. She nods her head toward the table. "What's in the bags?"

"Well, before I was so rudely accosted, I was going to tell you that I went missing this morning because I walked to the local pub to pick-up two take-away breakfasts. After yesterday and last night, I knew you were going to wake up feeling rather empty."

Stirling laughs. "Just like this bed was."

"Stop your moaning," Joe says, standing up, pulling her upright as well. "We better tuck in before it goes cold."

She climbs out of bed and walks over to the table, opening a bag to peek inside.

"What are you wearing?" he asks, playfully slapping at her hand as she reaches into the bag and snags a toast solider.

She takes a bite and looks down at herself. "Your shirt," she says after she swallows.

Joe grabs the other half of the solider out of her hand and pops it in his mouth.

"Why? Didn't you pack kit of your own?"

She blushes slightly. "I woke up, you were gone, I was missing you, so I put on your shirt. It smells like you."

He looks up from the meal he is organizing and smiles, reaching out to caress her cheek. "Have I ever told you how shagtastic you look wearing my kit?"

She nods her head. "Several times. And I believe you've told many others as well."

"Well, my shagtastic-looking wife, sit down and have some nosh," Joe says, setting a plate with hog's pudding, bacon, potato cakes, fried mushrooms, a soft-boiled egg and several toast soldiers in front of her.

"Where did you find the china and utensils?" she asks as he hands her a knife and fork.

"In that cupboard over there," he says, pointing to a low cabinet under the window. "According to the instructions, we put all the items that need washing up in the plastic basin provided and management will deal with it when the room is straightened."

"Well, I say Jeeves, that all sounds rather oojah-cum-spiff," Stirling says, trying to affect a snobby Bertram Wilberforce Wooster accent.

Joe looks up from his breakfast, giving her a puzzled look. "Luge come spit?"

She almost chokes on a piece of toast as she laughs, forced to take a big gulp of water to wash it down. "Oojah-cum-spiff. It means all right or okay."

"In what language?"

"World War One era British English."

He stares at her for several seconds and then goes back to eating his breakfast. "I don't even want to know what jeeves means."

She looks up sharply. "Jeeves isn't a what; he's a who."

"I said I didn't want to know," Joe says laughing, dipping his toast into his egg. "But you're going to tell me anyway."

Stirling looks hurt. "No, that's oojah-cum-spiff with me if you're not interested. Pip, pop and what ho."

She bends down to cut into her hog's pudding and he stares at her, shaking his head slightly. "Gibberish," he mutters. "Complete gibberish."

She smiles to herself, choosing to ignore his comment. "What time do we have to leave?" she asks instead.

"We need to be out by mid-day," he says, stabbing his last piece of bacon. He eyes her plate. "Are you going to finish yours?"

She pushes it toward him. "You can have the rest. I'm stuffed to the gills."

Joe looks alarmed. "But there's still more in the bag," he says.

"I couldn't eat another bite," she says, standing up from the table and walking over to the bed. She flops backwards onto the mattress and stretches out.

"Well, I guess we can bring it with us in case you get hungry later. We really should be packed and on the road just after lunch to make it to Penzance before dark."

"Uh-hmmmm," Stirling says, clasping her hands across her stomach and closing her eyes. She smiles to herself as she feels the baby moving.

"You're going to fall asleep on me, aren't you?"

"Maybe," she mutters, rolling over onto her left side. "There's time. It's only half eight."

Joe stands up and approaches the bed, unbuttoning his shirt. "That's too bad. I was hoping we could do something to work off breakfast," he says, tossing his shirt over the back of a chair before undoing his trousers.

"That sounds interesting," Stirling mutters, half asleep. "What did you have in mind?"

She's jarred fully awake as Joe jumps on the bed, landing beside her. Startled, she gives a little squeak of fear. He laughs and wraps his arms around her body.

"I'm sure we can think of something," he says, kissing her. She giggles as he begins to unbutton the shirt she's wearing. "But first, I need my shirt back," he says softly, kissing every section of her smooth skin bared by each opened button.


	31. Chapter 31

Stirlng's pretty sure she's never been this sore and stiff before. _There was that time at Primrosehill,_ she recalls. _And that two-day marathon at Shire Lane. Plus my first time ever, at Great Westwood – that brought new meaning to the word 'great,'_ she remembers ruefully.

But all of that bruising, swelling and soreness pales in comparison to what she's experiencing now._ I used to be able to go longer then three hours. I must be getting old_, she grumbles mentally, wishing she could swallow some paracetamol.

"How are you feeling?" Joe asks, fumbling with his buckle.

"I don't think I can feel my bum anymore," she admits with a laugh. She staggers a few steps bow legged before she finally finds her balance.

She watches Joe continue to struggle. "Do you want me to do that? I have a bit more experience than you." He finally manages to undo it. "Now I suppose you want me to hold it for you," she says, giving him a wink.

"If you wouldn't mind," he says with that half smile that Stirling always finds herself giving in to.

"Luzz it over," she says with a laugh, holding out her hand.

"Thank you, beautiful," Joe says softly, giving her a deep, long kiss. "You wait here. I'll be back in a few minutes."

She watches him walk up to the main house, admiring him from the back. After he disappears from view, she turns, hooking the strap of his helmet on the frame of the Triumph, before looking out at the view of Mount's Bay and Gwavas Lake. _Stunning_, she thinks, watching a few boats out on the water. Far in the distance, she can see the island of St. Michael's Mount and to the left, the town of Penzance sprawling up to the edge of the water.  
She feels a thrill of excitement in her chest. _A fortnight of this amazing view_, she thinks. She's particularly looking forward to seeing the inside of the guest house they have let, nestled on the hillside above Fore Street in Newlyn, not far from the owner's large main house. The outside of the small building is beautiful with clinging vines covering the stucco walls and a small stone garden area, complete with a swinging seat, in the front. Stirling is hoping the inside is just as charming.

She grins as Joe comes back into view, jiggling the keys in his hand. She moves away from the Triumph, which she's been leaning against as she tries to regain feeling to her bum. The two-hour trip from Bodmin to Penzance, which actually took three hours after adding a few pit-stops and refreshment breaks along the way, had left her as numb and sore as when she was a teenager competing in cross-country horse trials. But she's feeling much better now.

"I can't wait to see it!" she says excitedly, grabbing Joe's hand and practically skipping beside him up to the guest house front. He unlocks the door and opens it but stops her before she can enter.

"Not yet," he says, bending down and scooping her up in his arms with a groan of effort.

"Are you going to do this every time we enter a new place?" she asks, laughing as he carries her into the small cottage. She gasps as she looks around the inside.

The door enters into a large room, which includes a small sitting area with a couch, a low table, a few overstuffed chairs, a gas fireplace and a small telly. To the far left of the room is a tiny kitchen with cupboards, a sink, mini cooker, half refrigerator plus a table and four chairs. The floor is finished wood planking with bright scatter rugs everywhere. At the back of the large room, dead centre, is a small hall with two doors, one leading into a beautiful bedroom with a large antique bed, a gas fireplace and a decadent-looking two person spa tub in the corner. The other door in the hall leads into a large size loo that includes a shower area that looks large enough to clean an entire football team at the same time plus laundry facilities.

"Cor blimey!" says Stirling softly, looking around in awe. "Can we stay here forever?"

Joe gently sets her down on her feet and, after removing her motorcycle boots and leather jacket, she slowly begins to explore, opening kitchen cupboards and cabinet doors. She wanders into the bedroom and falls in love with the tub. "We need one of these at the police station," she says.

"Somehow, I doubt the force's housing committee is going to think the installation of a two-person whirlpool tub is a necessary reno," says Joe with a laugh as he carries their luggage into the room. "But I love the idea of you requesting one, just to see what happens."

"I could file papers stating it's a necessary medical therapy," she says smiling. "I wonder if they would notice if the same signature was on the reno request and medical therapy certification?"

She wanders back into the kitchen and watches as Joe stores their breakfast leftovers in the small refrigerator "How much is left?" she asks, her stomach grumbling.

"You're hungry again?"

"I'm Lee Marvin – starvin'!" she says, wrapping her arms around Joe's waist and giving him a quick kiss. She rubs her nose against his.

He looks at his watch. "We only had lunch a few hours ago. And you had elevenses before that. It looks like someone is getting her appetite back." He kisses her on the forehead. "You have no idea how happy that makes me."

Stirling smiles. "I'm glad my ravenous hunger pleases you. I'm not sure how happy you're going to be when my stomach precedes me into a room."

"That could be convenient," Joe says, grinning at her with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "We could send your stomach ahead to check out the weather, wait in line, save us a parking space, book us a table at a restaurant. This could work to our advantage."

"You bloody bastard!" she says with a laugh, giving him a playful push. He wraps his arms around her, drawing her close to his body despite her halfhearted attempts to escape his grip. He kisses her ardently.

"Well missus," he says. "Let's get you something to eat before you gnaw my arm off. What do you feel like noshing?"

She makes a big show out of pretending to think hard. "Stargazy pie!" she says with a grin.

Joe flinches and shudders with horror. "If you want that, you'll be at a table by yourself, Cheeky. I don't think I could sit through watching you eat that horrible thing again."

She pats his cheek gently. "Don't worry. I'm just teasing. But I do feel like having seafood," she says. "Or maybe Chinese? Maybe both?"

"A Chinese restaurant in Penzance, Cornwall, that serves seafood," he considers. "I think we can find that. Get your kit on."

A few minutes later, they are riding the Triumph into Penzance, bumping along New Road, which turns into West Promenade Road, both running parallel with the South West Coastal Path. As they travel closer to the town's harbour area and ferry terminal, the street name changes again, this time to Battery Road. Not long after passing Penzance's famous Jubilee Pool, Joe turns the Triumph left onto a narrow lane called Quay Street. He manages to find a small section of pavement to park the bike, just across from a Chinese restaurant.

"We're eating here?" Stirling asks uncertainly, gazing up at the building's dirty stucco and faded restaurant sign. She looks up and down the street, checking out the rough and tumble waterfront neighbourhood. "Do you think the Triumph will be okay parked here?"

"Stop being a moaning Minnie," Joe says with a laugh, grabbing her hand and pulling her across the street to the restaurant's entrance. "You said you wanted Chinese and seafood. I have it on good authority this place is the best in town."

Inside, the lighting is dim and Stirling almost trips over Joe's feet, giggling as she falls against him. "You're being a lummox," he whispers in her ear as he catches her to keep her from falling.

"Sorry," she laughs, holding tightly to his hand as they are led into a dining room and seated at a private table, tucked away in its own private alcove. She takes a quick glance around, realizing there aren't many people eating at half three on a Sunday afternoon in January. They have their section of the room pretty much to themselves, for now.

"This is nice," she says, sitting back in her soft, over-stuffed chair. "I wish the seat on the Triumph was this comfy."

Joe promptly slides his chair right beside hers. "What are you doing?" Stirling asks.

"I'm in a dimly lit restaurant with my beautiful wife on our honeymoon, about to have a romantic dinner. I thought it might be fun to snuggle up close beside her, partake in some snogging and perhaps mess around."

Her laugh of surprise is choked off as Joe pulls her toward him, pressing his lips against hers, demanding all of her mouth and attention. One of his hands tickles softly up her side, the other cupping the back of her neck, pressing her lips to his. She responds, running her fingers through his hair, along the back of his neck and across his shoulders, a deep humming noise of approval vibrating in her throat.

A discreet cough pulls them apart.

Stirling looks up into the dancing eyes of a young, dark-haired waitress who sets two glasses of ice water on the table in front of them, struggling very hard not to giggle. "I'm Anna, I'll be your server this afternoon," she says in a soft, sing-song voice. "Can I bring you something to drink?"

Joe orders Chinese beer. "I'm fine with water but could you bring a full pitcher with ice?" asks Stirling. "It will save you having to come back over and over again."

Anna nods her head and smiles. "That won't be a problem. I'd ask if you are ready to order but I don't think you've had a chance to look at your menus yet." She gently pushes the two leather bound covers toward them. "I'll be back in a moment with your drinks."

She turns to walk away but stops and comes back to their table. "I can probably save you some time," she admits. "The monk fish is excellent – very fresh. The prawns are also amazing. The crab and sweetcorn soup is a favourite or you could order from our set menu, which offers a sampling of several different dishes, including a few starters and a main meal."

"My wife is having a craving for seafood," Joe explains. Anna quickly flips open a menu and points out several popular a la carte seafood dishes plus a few set meals with seafood starters and mains. The three of them soon sort out a selection of dishes to order and Anna trots off to inform the kitchen.

"Now, where were we?" he asks, touching the side of her face softly, tracing a finger down her cheek and across her chin, gently tickling her bottom lip. Stirling shivers.

"It sounds strange to hear you call me your wife," she says quietly as he leans in to kiss her, nipping and sucking lightly on her lips.

"But that's what you are, as of approximately 24 hours ago," he says, pressing his hand against the back of her neck, pulling her mouth closer to his. Once again, his lips claim hers, his hand moving slowly up her side to grip her body by her left breast. She gasps softly, squirming under his touch.

"If you keep this up, we'll have to change our order to takeaway," she whispers against his cheek, moving her lips down his neck.

Joe chuckles softly and shifts his body slightly away from hers. "No, I can wait," he says, sitting back in his chair. He glances at the table and is surprised to notice that Anna must have been by to deposit his beer and the pitcher of ice water. He reaches over and pours the bottle's contents into the provided glass.

"I'm glad you can," Stirling grumbles, taking a few sips of water as she tries to settle her pulse and rein in her libido.

His eyes dance with mischief as he looks at her over his beer glass. "So, what would you like to do for the next 12 days?" He pauses for a moment. "Let me rephrase that – what would you like to do for the next 12 days that does not involve shagging."

Stirling almost chokes on her water as she laughs. "Hmmmm, that limits things doesn't it? Well, obviously, I'd like to visit St. Michael's Mount, Land's End and Lizard Point."

Joe nods.

"And I thought it might be nice if we took the ferry to the Isles of Scilly, maybe stay there for a few days and explore. Have you ever been?"

"Once," he says. "It was for a police training exercise, sort of like a manhunt game. We also did some survival training. It's an interesting place. I doubt there will be many people there in January, though."

"All the better," she says with a smile. "Maybe we could take some walks along the South West Coastal Trail too and, of course, explore Penzance, maybe even St. Ives and some other places along the north coast heading west. What do you think?"

"Sounds great. Hopefully we can fit it in around all the shagging," he says with a grin.

"You wanker!" Stirling says with a laugh, pitching a balled up serviette at him, which bounces off his forehead. They're both laughing as Anna walks up carrying a tray containing the various dishes they ordered.

"That's a nice sound to hear," she says, setting the tray down on an adjacent table. "Two people in love, sharing a laugh."

She carefully transfers the dishes from her tray to their table, leaning in with the air of a fellow conspirator. "I'm having a bit of a flutter with the bartender," she says quietly. "He says you're here celebrating your anniversary. I think you're on your honeymoon. I have a fiver riding on this so I'm hoping you can put us out of our misery before you leave."

"What happens if you're both wrong?" Stirling asks mischievously. "We might be here celebrating the finalization of our divorce. Or the start of an extra marital affair. Or, we could just be hungry."

Anna laughs. "Not possible," she says. "I have an eye for this. You're both wearing wedding rings, so you're not getting divorced. And, no offence, but he doesn't look like the cheating type. You're married to each other; I can tell. So either it just happened or it was several years ago and you're marking the occasion."

Joe leans toward Anna, extending his hand, which she takes uncertainly. He shakes it up and down. "Congratulations, you're £5 richer. We were married a little more than 24 hours ago."

She smiles and jumps with excitement. "I knew I was right! Thank you! Oh, and congratulations!" she says, scampering back toward the bar, laughing triumphantly.

"Is it just us or is this the way the world works now?" Stirling asks as she scoops samples from the various serving dishes onto her plate.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it seems every time I turn around, someone is making a wager about some aspect of our life. Before, it was just the people in Portwenn. Now, it's waitresses that serve us in Chinese food restaurants in towns more than 50 miles away from home! Or bartenders we haven't even met."

Joe laughs as he fills his plate. "Relax! We're on our honeymoon."

Her stomach growls in expectation and she decides to follow his advice, relaxing against the back of her chair and taking a big mouthful of the prawn dish. She groans in delight. "These are amazing!" she says, spearing some more.

He smiles as he watches her eat, as she enjoys every mouthful and new taste. It's such a simple pleasure but he takes great delight in it. Watching her hollow cheeked and retching in the hospital had scared and worried him. Seeing her fill out and enjoy food again is easing his apprehension. And making him happy.

Later, after they finish their early dinner and leave the restaurant, Stirling and Joe walk hand-in-hand along the harbour, down by the ferry terminal to the end of the quay and back.

"We'll have to watch and hope for a stretch of nice weather," says Joe as they walk back toward the main harbour road. "That's when we should aim to take the ferry to Scilly. The weather can be really nasty out there in the winter so it's best to go when the forecast is looking good. I wouldn't want you to get seasick."

They walk along in companionable silence as they cross the small bridge on The Quay, closer to where the smaller, private sailboats and motorboats are moored. They walk as far as the long stay car park and then head back to the Triumph.

On their way to the little cottage, they stop at The Co-Operative Food store just off New Street in Newlyn to stock up on food for the next few days, just enough to fit on the Triumph.

Once they're home and the supplies have been put away, they cuddle together under a blanket on the double swing seat in the cottage's front garden and watch the boat and ship lights in the bay. Stirling rests her head on Joe's shoulder and relaxes, his arm holding her close to his side, her legs stretched over his lap. After about 30 minutes in the night air, she starts to shiver.

"Time to go in," he says, shifting her legs and standing up. He turns and helps her off the swing. "How about a bath?"

"I thought you'd never ask," she says with a smile, giving him a quick kiss.

They walk in together, arms around one another. He walks into the bedroom to start filling the tub while she folds the blanket over the back of the couch and locks the door. She switches off the lights as she moves to the bedroom, walking in with a yawn and a big stretch.

Joe wraps his arms around her waist, kissing up her neck to her chin and face, finally claiming her lips. Slowly, they work as a team, removing each others clothing until they're both naked. After setting the timer for the whirlpool, they climb into the warm water together. Joe settles against the sloped back first and carefully helps Stirling sit down beside him before activating the air jets. She sighs and leans back against him as the water bubbles around them. His arms tenderly wrap around her, cradling her stomach. Amazingly, he believes it has become larger and more pronounced in just the past day. There seems to be more there for his hands and fingers to spread over. As she relaxes against him, he can feel nudging and movement under his hands. He smiles and kisses her cheek.

"Can you feel him?" she asks, her head leaning back against his left shoulder, her eyes closed. "I think he's doing somersaults at the moment. Or practicing some fancy football moves."

She moves his hands just slightly, resting her hands over his. The movement is much stronger where she gently presses his hands. He laughs softly, kissing her again.

"Does he keep you awake?" he asks.

"No," she says, "not yet. It's the leg cramps that are starting to bother me. I'm actually having one right now," she adds with a hiss of pain, reaching down to rub her right calf muscle. He helps her by gently rubbing the area. "Thanks," she sighs, stretching out her leg.

She turns her body closer to Joe, wrapping both her arms around his body and cuddling against him. She lifts her chin, moving her face up to his, putting her mouth on his. She moves her lips strongly against his mouth, pressing his bottom lip between hers and sucking. He responds, pressing harder against her, his hands moving over her body. A few well placed caresses and she's straddling him, her breasts pushing against his chest, her hands stroking the sides of his face, her tongue ravaging his mouth.

_Maybe we should get one of these tubs_, he thinks as he rubs his hands up and down Stirling's back and sides, eventually gripping her torso just under her breasts. He kisses slowly down her neck and chest, smiling as he receives the response he wants.

_This is going to be an enjoyable fortnight_, he thinks, slipping lower in the tub.


	32. Chapter 32

Stirling bolts upright and screams; not a soft, startled 'Eek! There's a spider' scream but a straight from the panic centre of the brain down to her lungs kind of scream. With her eyes tightly shut against the night, she's terrified.

And so is Joe, who also scrambles upright and is immediately awake, his eyes wide in fear, hands ready to grab and throttle whoever is skulking in the darkness, apparently hurting his wife.

She screams again, thrashing her hands out in the air in front of her, batting at whatever she believes is terrorizing her.

He quickly grabs her shoulders, pulling her to him, trying to shield her body from whomever or whatever is hurting her. It takes him a few seconds to realize there's nothing there.

"Cheeky," Joe says, holding her against his chest. "Stirling."

The screams quiet but she starts to whimper and sob, shaking against him. "Shhhh," he croons, rocking her back and forth. "Shhhh, it's okay. You're all right. I'm here."

He's still holding and rocking her when there's a pounding at the door. "Damn," grumbles Joe, tenderly setting Stirling back against the pillows and climbing out of bed. He searches around for his boxer shorts and a T-shirt, quickly pulling them on. "I'll be back in a minute," he whispers to her, glancing at the bedside clock – half three in the morning.

It's their second night in the Isles of Scilly staying in one of two self-catering studio apartments tucked behind the owner's house just on the outskirts of Hugh Town, St. Mary's, the largest of the occupied islands.

They arrived Tuesday afternoon and spent the rest of the day on a boat tour of a few of the occupied islands plus a visit to one of the seal colonies. Wednesday morning they wandered Samson island with a local guide, exploring the abandoned cottages and farms left over from the last human inhabitants in the 1800s. In the afternoon, they came back to St. Mary's to walk around the island, returning to the apartment exhausted. After a dinner of soup and sandwiches, they had relaxed together in the apartment's whirlpool tub (now they both want one installed at the police station) before leisurely making love, eventually falling asleep in each others arms.

There's more pounding at the door, louder this time. "Coming," Joe calls, walking swiftly across the room. "Bloody, god damn, pissing hell!" he curses after smashing his shin against a table in the darkness. He staggers from the pain, trying to reach down and rub his leg while still walking. He limps up to the door and squints through the peek hole. He looks back at the bed, where Stirling lies in a foetal position, sobbing.

He unlocks the door and opens it.

"Is everything all right?" a man asks. He stands shivering in the cold hall, his hair standing on end as he shifts from one bare foot to the other. He is wearing only jimjam bottoms and a T-shirt, goosebumps clearly visible on his arms as he hugs himself against the cold. "I heard screaming."

Joe takes a deep breath. "Yes, I'm terribly sorry," he says, rubbing at his eyes. "My wife had a bad dream or a night terror or something and woke up screaming."

The man, who looks to be in mid to late 40s, gives him a suspicious look, not sure whether to believe him or not. He tries to look around him into the dark room. "Are you sure she's all right? She scared the bloody hell out of my wife and I plus our kids. She woke everyone up, even the baby!"

Joe can hear an infant crying in the room across the frigid hall from theirs. "Once again, I apologize. She had a nightmare."

He looks over his shoulder to check on Stirling but the bed is empty. "Cheeky?" he calls, worried. A wave of relief washes over him as he hears the familiar hiss of her puffer before she walks out of the loo, buttoning one of his shirts.

She sniffles and wipes at her face with a tissue as she walks to him, putting her arm around his waist before pushing the door open further. The man steps back, surprised by her sudden appearance.

"I apologize for disturbing your sleep and scaring your family," she says, continuing to wipe at her eyes. "I had a very vivid dream that scared me. Actually, it terrified me. When I woke up, I was screaming and my husband was trying to calm me down."

She shivers and moves closer to Joe. "But thank you for checking on me," she says to the man. "It's very kind of you."

Stirling leans her entire body against Joe, tucking herself in closely to his body. He kisses her forehead and wraps his arms around her, comforting her.

Their neighbour stands for a moment, watching them. He clears his throat awkwardly. "I'm glad everyone is okay. I'll let you get back to bed. But please, no more nightmares. I don't think my heart can take it."

As he walks away, Joe quietly wishes him a goodnight and shuts the door, locking it behind him. He once again wraps his arms around Stirling as she resumes crying, her face tucked into his chest, her head nestled under his chin. She keens softly as the tears flow, her body shaking with the sobs. He holds her gently and then lifts her in his arms. "Wrap your legs around me," he whispers in her ear, carrying her to the bed. He settles back against some piled pillows, pulling her onto his lap and cradling her like a baby. He sits that way for a long time as she cries herself out, eventually calming. As soon as she quiets, he sets her beside him on the bed and visits the loo to wet a flannel for her face. He hands it to her along with a glass of cool water.

"Thank you," she whispers, wiping her tears away with the soft cloth before taking a few gulps of water. She rubs the flannel over her face several times, trying to cool her feverish eyes and cheeks.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks.

"Just give me a few minutes," she says, taking a few more swallows of water.

Joe waits patiently, knowing Stirling will talk to him when she's ready.

A few minutes later, she moves, cuddling up beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. "What scares you?" she asks softly. "What makes you so afraid that when it enters your mind, you immediately try to think of something else, just to keep yourself under control and borderline sane?"

Joe's quiet for a moment, considering her question. "It's changed over the years," he admits. "When I was a little boy, it was the troll who lived under my bed. Then big, hairy, loud dogs. Later, it shifted to ghosts and haunts in old graveyards. When I was a teen, I guess it was talking to girls; being naked in front of girls; being sexually inadequate or unable to perform and then being laughed at by a girl."

"So, like most adolescent boys, pretty much anything to do with sex and girls," Stirling suggests, wiping under her eyes.

"Pretty much," he agrees. "In my 20s, that shifted to anything to do with sex and women. Plus publicly humiliating myself – out of necessity, I conquered that fear fairly quickly. In my 30s, it was all about the job and self preservation. I was afraid of being stabbed, shot, trampled by horses, dying alone. I used to have this nightmare about watching a faceless man slowly stabbing me, seeing the knife go into my chest a centimetre at a time."

She shivers against him.

"Since Spencer, I'm not afraid of knives anymore," he admits. Stirling tightens her arms around him and gently kisses his cheek. "Now, I'm more afraid of something happening to you, or the baby, or both of you. I still don't like the idea of being shot or being around horses. But I'd say my deepest fears involve you, seeing you hurt or in pain, being unable to help you. After Spencer, when you were in the hospital, that was a nightmare for me. Doc sending me home while you stayed behind made it even worse. And before Christmas, when you fainted near the harbour and were in the hospital again, I was in a panic."

"That's one thing I'm not looking forward to when the baby comes," he admits, gently cupping her belly with his right hand. "I don't think I'm going to handle the whole labour and delivery process very well. The idea of seeing and hearing you in pain, just the thought makes me break out in a cold sweat. I'm afraid I'm going to be useless to you, unable to help you, a babbling idiot when you need me. That terrifies me."

Stirling moves her head lower so it rests against Joe's chest as she considers what he's shared. "I think, as usual, you're underestimating what you're capable of doing and accomplishing," she says, gently putting her hand over his. "You doubt your abilities. I understand that; I think we all doubt ourselves from time to time. I was really nervous the first time I helped deliver a baby. But it all worked out. I took a deep breath, remembered everything I had read and been taught, and just did it."

"I don't think that's a fair comparison at all," he says. "If I remember the story correctly, you were 12 the first time you helped deliver a baby. I think most 12 year old kids – even you – would be nervous, terrified perhaps. I'm in my mid 40s, Stirling!"

"Just think how much greater your ability and confidence is going to be compared to my first time," she says. "All that life experience and knowledge. No 12-year-old has that."

"No, instead you had an eidetic memory to fall back on."

"In the grand scheme of things, that meant nothing," she says. "No one is asking you to deliver the baby yourself. You're doubting your ability to provide support and help to me during labour. You think you're going to fail, that you're going to be useless. And I say you're wrong. You have never failed me, Joe Penhale. You have risen to every challenge presented to you since I've known you."

She looks up at him, her eyes serious. "You won't let me down, not if you have any say in the matter. Of that, I have no doubt."

He smiles at her as he gently caresses her face. "I'm so glad we've been able to share this time to discuss and analyze my deepest fears," he says. "Now, let's talk about what's bothering you. Explain to me what upset you so much that your screams woke me and the neighbours and then caused you to cry uncontrollably for another 20 minutes."

Stirling lowers her head back to his chest again. "I have fears and doubts too," she says quietly, shivering slightly. "Tonight I had a nightmare about one that really struck an emotional weak spot with me. I'm not sure why my reaction was so extreme, so visceral. Studies show that some pregnant women experience an increase in nightmares and night terrors due to higher hormone levels. Maybe I was just over tired. I don't know."

"My first big fear that I can remember is being on the moor alone in the fog, hearing the baying of the hound of the Baskerville's behind me. It turned out is was only the neighbour's dog and Emily found me after 20 minutes – she was supposed to be watching me anyway. But I had night terrors about it for months.

"Since I found out I was pregnant, most of my nightmares and terrors have involved the baby and/or giving birth. And they seem to feature one overwhelming theme – me having to deliver the baby by myself, alone."

She shivers again and Joe pulls her closer.

"I don't know why it upsets me so much. I'm a doctor. I have experience delivering babies. I know what I'm doing. But in my nightmares, I'm panicked and afraid, screaming hysterically, unable to handle the pain. And I'm usually somewhere isolated – the moor, locked in a building or a room, floating on the ocean in a boat, lying on an isolated beach, in a cave, the loft of a barn – places that don't make any sense."

"Tonight, I dreamt I was exploring Samson island again, climbing over rocks along the shore, when my waters break. As soon as I notice, the first pain hits me and I'm doubled over, screaming. I'm all alone. I keep shouting for help but no one comes. And the pain is getting stronger and stronger. It might be a dream but it's like I can actually, physically feel it. I'm trying breathing exercises, mental imaging, anything and everything I can think of to get on top of the pain, but nothing works. I can't even see to judge how dilated I am and whether I should push or not."

"Suddenly, I notice there's a large bird sitting on one of the rocks near me. I notice it's a buzzard. And then there's another and another and another until hundreds of them are surrounding me, watching, waiting. I try to scare them away but they won't leave. I try throwing rocks but they just bounce off the birds' bodies."

A quaver of fear can be heard in Stirling's voice and she stops to take a drink of water, trying to swallow down the ball of terror that has lodged in her throat.

"And then a brave one hops over and picks at my arm. It takes a bite of flesh. Blood is trickling down and I can smell it. So do the other buzzards. Soon, there's a second, a third, fourth, dozens, hundreds. They're eating me alive. And I can't discern which pain is part of being in labour and which is part of being ripped to shreds by buzzards." Her voice cracks and she leans against Joe's chest, shaking. He wraps his arms around her, kissing the top of her head.

"Shhhh," he says, feeling a bit sickened and horrified himself. "Try to think of something else."

She sits up, her eyes glistening with tears, her nose running. "There's some kind of message there. I know there is. But I can't see it clearly. Maybe my subconscious thinks of the baby as a parasite, feeding off me, eating me alive. Maybe I have deep-seated abandonment issues or believe I'm on my own when it comes to this pregnancy."

"I'm not saying what my subconscious is expressing is the truth," she adds quickly as Joe frowns, opening his mouth to say something.

He clears his throat. "Or maybe you're just having a nightmare about birds," he says. "There doesn't have to be meaning in everything we dream. Sometimes we just dream weird things because we had something too spicy before bed. Have you ever considered that maybe you spend too much time thinking and analyzing everything?"

"All the time!" she says earnestly.

They hold each other as they sit side-by-side in the bed, Joe gently petting her hair. "I find it interesting that my fear is I will be useless to you when you go into labour and your fear is I'm not going to be there at all to help you."

"But it's more than you being absent," she says. "I'm completely alone, with no doctor or nurse or midwife to assist. And the strange thing is, during the nightmare, I can feel this undercurrent of urgency, that you want to be there but you can't get to me. That's why I believe you won't let me down if you can help it. It's like something beyond your control is preventing you."

"Even so, I am very afraid of being in pain and alone when this baby comes," she says, sitting up to look at him. "It terrifies me."

"Hmmmm," Joe says, pulling Stirling back against his chest. "I have an idea. I'm going to make you a promise. When this baby decides to make his grand entrance into this world, I promise that I will be there. You won't be alone. I will make it my mission to make sure that during the last month of the pregnancy, you are never alone."

She's quiet for a few moments. "Don't make me promises you can't keep, Joe," she says softly.

"Ha! What happened to 'You have never failed me, Joe Penhale'?" he asks, sounding disappointed. "You've lost faith in me already?"

"It's a lot to promise," she says. "You have a job to do. I have a job to do. You can't be holding my hand every minute of every day for four weeks. It's impossible. And I wouldn't want it anyway. Just because I have a bit of an insecurity doesn't mean I need to be watched like a baby."

"I don't know, Cheeky. The screaming and crying seemed a little more serious than 'a bit of an insecurity.'"

"I appreciate the effort and the sentiment, I do," she says, hugging him tightly. "But I'm not going to hold you to something that's impossible."

"I promise I'll be there for you," he says, snuggling deeper under the duvet and blankets, pulling her down next to him. "You won't be alone."

He kisses her tenderly and snuggles her close against his chest. "Now let's go back to sleep. I seem to recall you wanting to do a bit more exploring before we take the ferry back to Penzance."

Stirling is soon asleep, Joe feeling each of her deep breathes tickle over his chest. He stares up at the dark ceiling, contemplating the future as he holds his hand against her belly, feeling each movement and kick like a poke to his heart.


	33. Chapter 33

Morwenna is just finishing her fourth page of sudoku puzzles when the Doc pokes his head out of the consulting room and calls her name.

Startled, she looks up, wondering what the problem is now. It's the third time this morning he's called her into the back room. _And it isn't like this is his first day back at the surgery_, she thinks, rising wearily from her desk. _He's already been seeing patients for a week._

She walks in with a questioning look. "Yes, Doc?"

"There are four different pregnant women in the waiting room, not counting you," he says, waving a handful of patient files. "I've checked their records and they're all due within two weeks of each other. Including Louisa and yourself, that's six women in the Portwenn area that are expected to go into labour in late March or early April. Doesn't that seem extremely odd to you?"

_He seems quite agitated,_ thinks Morwenna as she looks down at the floor, fighting back a smile. "We all thought it was strange until we met up and had a chin wag about it," she explains.

"You what?"

"All the mums-to-be, we met up in The Crab one night and figured out how it happened."

The Doc looks at her like she's daft. "I'll tell you how it happened. You all had unprotected sex within two weeks of one another and became pregnant!"

"Well, obviously," says Morenna sarcastically. "But why then? What was so special about that two-week window? It took us a while but we figured it out."

The room is silent for a few moments. "Well?" prompts the Doc.

"Well what?"

"What did you figure out!"

"We call it APE," she says nonchalantly.

"What?"

"The Aylesworth-Penhale Effect – APE. That two week window lines up perfectly with when Doc Stirling and Joe started – you know – having pillow fights."

"You're joking?"

"No, I'm not," Morwenna says defensively. "It turns out we all have some connection to the incident that happened on the front step. I was here when it happened; I told Louisa about it when she called asking; Pepper Cleary heard about it from her aunt, Edna Ferris, who was here; Trisha Logan's husband told her the story after he heard about it from his great uncle, Bob Ketchum, who was here that morning; Sandy Clement heard about it through the postman, who heard about it from Edna Ferris, and Claudie Bishope was informed through Mrs. Pousty, who was also here that morning."

The Doc is quiet for a few seconds, taking the information in. "That is the most preposterous theory I have ever heard! There were dozens of other people who were here or heard the sordid story through the telephone tree gossip system used in this crazy village. They didn't become pregnant."

"That's because they were either too old or didn't have the opportunity to."

He scoffs at her in disgust.

"You can disagree all you like but it's the theory that we came up with that makes the most sense," Morwenna says, crossing her arms across her chest stubbornly.

"Well, that may be so but it's not going to help with the current situation. There is no way Dr. Aylesworth will be able to monitor and be available, if required, to assist this many pregnancies this close together."

"She and the local midwife, Molly, have been discussing splitting the cases," Morwenna explains. "Doc Stirling would monitor Louisa, Claudie and I."

The Doc looks quickly through the patient files. "Even so, that's three pregnancies, two of which have due dates one day apart. And Ms. Bishope is only due three days after you. That's impossible to manage!"

"Doc Stirling thinks she can do it."

"Yes and Dr. Aylesworth also thinks she can walk out of hospitals whenever she likes, even though she is a patient; likes to shout 'Aces' at inopportune moments, scaring years off people's lives, and is currently on honeymoon with the most inept police sergeant in Cornwall, if not all of Britain. And you think she is capable of sound judgement?"

"Yes!"

The Doc can think of no response. "Speaking of Dr. Aylesworth, have you heard from her? Or Penhale?"

Morwenna gives him a puzzled look. "They're on their honeymoon. I would hope they would have better things to do than checking in with us."

The Doc grunts. _It would appear the inept sergeant actually listened to my advice_, he thinks. _Or the doctor has finally come to her senses and is following her doctor's orders_. He contemplates that idea for a few seconds, eventually shaking his head slightly. _Highly unlikely_.

"Send in Ms. Bishope," he says quietly, sorting her folder out of the pile on the desk.

"With pleasure," answers Morwenna with a grin.

* * *

Stirling stands on the cliff top and stares into the distance, the dark grey-blue sky making it almost impossible to see where the sea ends and the horizon begins. Somewhere out there, past the small white smudge of a lighthouse in the distance and hundreds of miles away, is the east coast of North America, Newfoundland to be exact. Meanwhile, at the bottom of the cliff, the edge not far from her feet, the waves of the Celtic Sea crash against the rock face of Land's End, the most westerly point of mainland Britain.

It's beautiful, it's scary, it's wild, and it's freezing, not that Stirling is feeling the cold, even though tears stream down her face from the strong wind. Her wool overcoat flaps out behind her, her hair billowing out from under her cap. She smiles, opening wide her arms and closing her eyes, breathing in the sharp, fresh smell of the sea.

Deep down, she can feel the stomach-churning excitement of fear – the dizzying heights, the overpowering strength of the waves, the gusts of wind buffeting against her; she's standing so close to the edge. But overpowering the fear is the thrill of freedom – wild, unfettered freedom.

As Joe watches her from his seat on a nearby bench, he feels a flare of unease. _She's too close to the edge_, he thinks. _It's too cold for her out in the wind like that. A gust might catch her coat and knock her down. She might fall_.

He's always been a bit of a worrier – prone to moments of acute hypochondria, flashes of paranoia and intense fussing – but being around Stirling seems to bring it out even stronger in him. The fact she is pregnant just seems to heighten his concern.

Watching her stand there, her arms spread wide, the sounds of the sea crashing and foaming below her, Joe is reminded of those winter mornings last year when he would be jogging the coastal trail outside Portwenn and come upon Stirling walking Bucephalus. Her wool cap would be pulled down over her ears, hair blowing in the wind, her coattails flapping, staring off to where the sky and the sea meet, exactly like now. She had looked like a wild creature about to dive into the surf.

The memory makes him nervous. "Maybe you should come back here and sit with me," he shouts to her.

Stirling lowers her arms and looks over her shoulder at him, laughing. "I'm perfectly comfortable here," she calls back. "Why don't you come join me?"

Joe eyes the cliff edge and gulps. He shakes his head. "You might be comfortable out there but I'm not. You're making me very nervous, Cheeky."

She takes one last long look at the crashing waves, hissing spray and foaming water before turning and carefully picking her way over the slippery rocks toward Joe and the bench. She steps over the short barrier wire, meant to keep people away from the edge. He rises as she gets closer, wrapping her in his arms and kissing her nose and cheeks. "You're freezing," he says with a laugh, rubbing his arms up and down her back.

"I don't feel cold," she says, leaning against his body.

"Probably because you've already lost all feeling in your body from the wind chill."

Stirling laughs. "I don't think so," she says with a wicked grin, pulling Joe's face closer to her own. "I can feel something pretty solid pressing up against me," she whispers in his ear before seizing his lips with hers, teeth scraping against his bottom lip.

"You minx," he says with a laugh, grabbing her bum and squeezing with one hand, making her squirm and scream as he tickles her side with his other.

He kisses her again. "Let's go back to the cottage. I've sat out here for an hour while you took photos, stared out at the water and turned blue. I want to take you back to our cozy little place, get you in the jacuzzi tub and warm you up."

"Sounds wonderful," she says, wrapping her arms around his waist and cuddling into his side. Clinging to one another, they walk down the paved path toward the Land's End Visitor Centre and the car park where the Triumph waits.

It's a cold and overcast day to be at Land's End but Stirling had insisted on seeing it. She's hoping they can drive down the Lizard peninsula tomorrow.

After spending three days on the Isles of Scilly, Joe and Stirling had returned to Penzance on the ferry Friday evening. The next day, they had spent exploring the city and walking out to St. Michael's Mount, just off the shore of the nearby town of Marazion.

Stirling was fascinated with the island, reading everything she could find about its history and current status. She was surprised to discover that, although the island had been given to the National Trust in the mid-1950s, the original owners – the St. Aubyn family – retained a 999-year lease to inhabit the castle and manage public viewings of some of its rooms.

She had also been excited to learn there was an underground railway for transporting goods from the harbour to the castle but was gutted when she was informed it was off limits to the public. "Well, that's no fun," she had muttered to Joe. "If we can't see it, why tell us about it?" Several times during the day, he had to steer her away from well-marked doors that stated Do Not Enter, her curiosity piqued by the idea of finding the underground train. "You're going to get us into trouble," he had finally warned her, whispering he would handcuff her to his wrist if she didn't behave. "Promises, promises," she had teased but was on her best behaviour after that.

That night, the weather had turned and Sunday dawned grey and rainy. And in light of the wet, dull, cold weather, they had spent the entire day in bed, barely crawling out from under the warm duvet. It was decadent and lazy – Stirling loved every minute of it. Joe had made them delicious sarnis for lunch and they had ordered delivery for dinner. The rest of the day they had spent making love or napping or talking or kissing or cuddling or reading. They had spent some time lounging in the jacuzzi, soaking and talking. It had been such an incredibly relaxing day that Stirling had awoken Monday morning energized and refreshed, insisting on travelling west toward Land's End despite the cool temperatures.

Now she stands by the Triumph and shivers as a powerful gust strikes her back, blowing off the water behind her. _Now I'm starting to feel cold_, she thinks, pulling her helmet on over her wool cap and buckling it with shaking fingers. Joe eventually has to help her tighten the strap.

"I knew you were freezing," he says, providing an arm to steady herself with as she climbs on behind him. She wraps her arms around his waist and leans her body against his back. Her baby bump has grown and she can feel it pressed between their bodies, the odd internal tickle or nudge reminding her of the baby's presence, as if she could forget him. She leans her head against Joe's back as he turns the Triumph out of the car park, picking up speed as he drives back down the long lane.

Looking for the quickest route back to Penzance, he opts for the A30, bypassing the scenic B road they had travelled on their way to the famous lookout point. He wants to get Stirling back to their snug cottage as soon as possible to get her warm again.

It's been an interesting week for Joe as he's spent time alone with his new wife. He'd honestly thought he knew everything there was to know about Stirling before they married but she continues to surprise him. He knew she possessed a keen sense of curiosity, an almost insatiable need to know and understand everything around her. But watching her in action these past few days has been truly awe inspiring and somewhat scary. Experiences shared by an entire pub full of local residents hadn't been enough to satiate her hunger for information about life on the Isles of Scilly. Even the local doctor had been given the Stirling treatment, Joe eventually forced to drag her away from his surgery so the man could get back to his patients. She'd quizzed the ferry captain on ship maintenance, spent half an hour discussing abstract painting with a street artist in Penzance, kept the tour guide at St. Michael's Mount on his toes with numerous detailed questions and hunted tirelessly for the door leading to the underground railway, despite the fact she had been told numerous times it was off limits to the general public.

It amazes Joe, a man who has issues recalling the number combination for the gun safe in the police station (it's the date of his birthday), that she can remember all that information or that she even wants to know it.

He hasn't been ignored in her need to know all she can. Late at night, as they lie holding one another in bed, she'll ask him questions about his childhood, his family, his old girlfriends, his job, past cases he's investigated, places he's been stationed, where he has travelled. Sometimes she shares stories with him but usually she acts like a sponge, sucking up all the information she can obtain. Joe admits he'd glimpsed aspects of this habit in Stirling before but never quite at this level of intensity. When he questioned her about it, she blushed, embarrassed.

"I don't know why I do it," she said, hiding her face from him against his chest. He was having none of that, lifting up her chin so he could see her eyes. "I just want to know everything."

She sighed. "I know if must be annoying for other people. It can be tiresome for me. Before the job in Portwenn, I used to play at a piano bar in the Savoy Hotel. I learned a lot about the different people who used to stop to give me tips and chat. I knew who was cheating with who, who was on their first date, who was getting married, who was on their honeymoon, who'd just been made redundant at work, who was considering having an affair, who'd just made an amazing business deal, who'd made a killing on the stock market, who was pregnant, who was celebrating an anniversary, everything. Soon, I was able to connect people, certain staff with other staff, management with guests, guests with management, guests with other guests. That's when I knew I had to get out of there. I was being sucked into the soap opera of a luxury hotel by my curiosity."

Joe looked at her, impressed. "You should have become a police constable. You'd probably have made Detective Inspector by now."

She had laughed. "What a truly frightening thought. I think there's enough law enforcement in the family. But I must admit, there's something appealing about being a higher rank than you, ordering you around."

He smiled, pulling her close. "Like you don't order me around already." They had kissed and quickly became immersed in one another.

Joe smiles at the memory as he exits the A30 onto The Coombe, heading toward Newlyn. A few turns later and he's driving up the steep lane, parking the Triumph next to the small cottage.

He helps Stirling off the back of the bike, gasping as her ice cold hands touch his. "It's tub time for you," he says, helping remove her helmet and escorting her into the cottage. She laughs as he carries her into the bedroom, setting her on the bed.

"I do have the ability to walk, you know," she says as he carefully removes her boots. She reaches up to undo her overcoat buttons but he beats her to it, leaning down to kiss her tenderly at the same time. Her hands shake as she unsnaps his leather jacket and pulls down the zipper, pushing it off his shoulders and down his arms to the floor.

He pulls away from her lips reluctantly, shivering slightly as he stands upright. "I better get the tub filling," he says, hoarsely, clearing his throat as he looks at her hungrily. "Don't move."

Stirling braces her hands behind her, leaning back on the bed to watch Joe turn on the taps, adjust the temperature and stopper the jacuzzi tub's drain. He turns back toward her, his eyes instantly drawn to the front of her shirt, which he had managed to mostly unbutton before seeing to the tub. It now gapes open, showing off Stirling's lacy black bra and impressive cleavage.

"Beautiful," he whispers, standing closely in front of her, her large hazel eyes looking up at him, her lips slightly parted. He reaches down and carefully opens the last three buttons on her shirt, pushing it off her shoulders as he gently kisses down her neck.

They slowly undress one another as the tub fills. Once he's completely disrobed, Joe steps into the large tub, turning off the water and starting the air jets. Stirling twists her hair up on top of her head, securing it with a clip, before stepping over the tall side of the jacuzzi. Joe helps her settle into the bubbling water next to him, pulling her close. She sighs, settling her head against his chest as the warm water helps thaw her cold body.

"I notice you're no longer shivering," Joe says a few minutes later. "Feeling better?"

Stirling nods her head, muttering, "Uh-huh." Her eyes are closed and she's just drifting on the edge of sleep, completely relaxed against Joe. "You take such good care of me," she mumbles, trying to cuddle closer to him. "I love you."

"I love you," he whispers next to her ear, tipping up her chin and planting a meandering trail of gentle kisses from her forehead, to her eyes, her nose and finally to her lips. She smiles as she opens her eyes sleepily, staring into his.

"Thank you for humouring me today," she says. "I know you probably didn't want to almost freeze off your goolies wandering along cliff top trails and sitting on a bench. And I wish you'd informed me of the vertigo issue earlier."

Joe blushes, remembering the dizzy spell he experienced when he walked too close to the edge at Land's End and his border-line hysteria when Stirling first stepped over the barrier wire to get a closer look at the waves crashing below. "Anything for my Cheeky Tart," he says softly, leaning over to kiss her nose again.

"Anything?" she says, arching her eyebrows and giving him a smouldering look, biting her bottom lip for good measure. "I'll have to remember that."

He laughs. "What's on the agenda for tomorrow, sexy?"

"Well, the weather is supposed to be sunny and a bit warmer than today," she says, nestling back against his chest. "I was hoping we could ride south, to Lizard Point, and see the lighthouse, walk along the South West Coast Path, maybe have a romantic lunch at the restaurant at Housel Bay, explore some out-of-the-way villages and beaches. What do you think?"

"Sounds like fun," he says, kissing the top of her head. "And the next day?"

"St. Ives?" she suggests.

They lie in each others arms, enjoying the warm, bubbling water, in silence. Eventually, Joe heaves a sigh. "We'll be heading home soon," he says. Stirling quickly sits up, turning to put a finger over his lips.

"Shhhh!" she says quietly. "I don't want to talk about then. I just want to enjoy now."

She removes her finger and leans over, pressing her lips to his, gently cupping his cheek. He responds, pushing back against her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. Soon, they are both in the here and now of one another, thoughts of the future banished for the moment.


	34. Chapter 34

Stirling is whistling Mozart as she works the pump at the petrol station just off the A30 on the outskirts of Truro. She tucks the Triumph's petrol cap in her overcoat pocket as she sticks the nozzle end in and starts filling the tank. She looks through the large front window of the shop attached to the petrol stop but can see no sign of Joe. _He must still be in the loo_, she thinks.

A Range Rover pulls up to the pump in front of her and a harried-looking man jumps out of the driver's side, the strident sound of a wailing baby and crying children echoing out behind him. The noise is immediately muffled as he slams the vehicle door, pausing to take a deep breath as he leans against it. He looks over at Stirling.

"Nice motorcycle," he says as he unscrews the Rover's petrol cap and starts pumping petrol into the tank.

"Thank you," she says, topping up the tank before putting the hose nozzle back. She screws the petrol cap back on and grabs a hand wipe from a nearby dispenser, soaking up any spilled petrol from around the Triumph's tank opening. "Sounds like you have a full house in there," she adds, watching the Range Rover rock back and forth in place.

The man gives her a crazed look, shaking his head. "We're on our way to visit my wife's parents in St. Ives for the weekend," he says. "A four-year-old, a two-year-old and a three-month-old baby. Plus the dog. I don't think I'm going to make it."

Stirling smiles sympathetically, leaning against the Triumph. "My sister used to turn the vehicle heat on high and try to lull her kids to sleep that way," she says. "The rest of us sweated off several stone in the travelling sauna but the peace was worth it."

"We might give that a try," the man said. "You have a lot of luggage packed on that bike."

"My husband and I are on our way home from our honeymoon. I love my work but I'm going to miss the freedom of tooling around southwestern Cornwall with my arms wrapped around him." She blushes as she realizes how that must have sounded.

The man laughs. "I wish I could go back to my honeymoon. Two words – birth control." He finishes with his pump and puts the nozzle back in its cradle before screwing on the petrol cap. "Have a safe trip home," he says, walking toward the petrol station's shop.

Stirling looks into the shop window again and sees Joe in line waiting to pay. She's hoping he won't take too long as she needs to visit the loo as well.

A loud wail makes her turn back to the Rover and she smiles as she notices the family dog licking the glass of the back window screen. A sharp command is heard and the dog disappears.

Stirling is contemplating moving the Triumph, but is concerned the petrol station management might think she's pumping and dashing, when she hears the squeal of tires. In the amount of time it takes her to look over her shoulder toward the roadway, an out-of-control vehicle slams into the Range Rover beside her, pushing it with a loud crunch of metal into the petrol pump.

Stirling automatically covers her head with her arms and tucks her body down in a ball, trying to protect her head and belly at the same time. The impact of the two vehicles into one another and the pumps sends out a compression wave of air that propels her backward into the Triumph, ultimately knocking the bike over and pushing her on top of it. Her head smacks back against the frame with a crack but, luckily, she's still wearing her helmet.

As the world moves from slow motion back to normal speed, she lies there, staring up at the cobweb-covered underside of the petrol station roof overhang, strangely surprised by the number of birds' nests she can see tucked in the rafters. The back of her head is throbbing. Her left arm is stinging and her back hurts. She can hear a car alarm wailing plus the distant sound of people screaming. There's a moan and a dog barking, somewhere. But all she can think about is the Triumph. _I dropped the Triumph_, she says in her head. _I dropped the Triumph. I've never dropped it in my life. I've always been careful, been careful of the paint. But now I've dropped it._

Stirling's not sure how long she lies there. Maybe it's one second, maybe two, possibly 10, maybe it's as long as one minute. But three things bring her to her senses and, ultimately, her feet: the sound of a baby crying, the unmistakeable smell of petrol and the panic-filled voice of Joe yelling her name.

* * *

Joe's arse is still numb after he walks out of the petrol station loo. _The seats of a Triumph were definitely not made with comfort in mind_, he thinks, shaking out his legs in hopes of increasing blood flow to his bum.

He glances out the window at Stirling, watching as she finishes filling the motorcycle's gas tank. She's chatting with a man at the pump beside her filling a Range Rover. _She's probably discussing petrol mileage_, Joe thinks with a smile, shifting his helmet under his other arm. _Or debating who was the best actor in the role of Hamlet_. His wife has a habit of striking up conversations with anyone and everyone she meets, the stranger the topic, the better.

As Joe waits in line, he contemplates the journey still in front of them. He glances at his watch – midday. It's taken them about an hour to travel this far from Penzance. And it will probably be about another 90 minutes before they reach Portwenn. _We'll be home well before dark_, he thinks with some relief, turning his thoughts toward where they should stop for lunch.

He glances toward the shop door as it opens and the man from the Range Rover walks in. He stands behind Joe in line, humming. "That's a nice bike you have," the man says, noticing the helmet under Joe's arm.

"Thanks," Joe says. "It's my wife's. She helped her brother-in-law restore it."

"Really?" the man says with some surprise. "Wish my wife was handy. Then we wouldn't have all the mechanic's bills."

Joe turns toward him with a smile and is about to say something when he hears the squeal of tires. He turns his head quickly to look out the large shop window and watches in shock as the Range Rover jolts sideways, smashing into the petrol pump beside it. He notices a woman in the front seat of the vehicle fall sideways, the air bags in the Rover activating about the same time. The petrol pump falls over, demolished in the impact, and liquid begins to leak out over the ground.

He turns his eyes to where Stirling and the Triumph had been but can see nothing. He feels his heart rise into his throat as he runs toward the door. "Call 999," he shouts over his shoulder at the employee standing behind the counter as he exits the shop.

The first thing that hits him is the stench of petrol. And then he realizes the reason he can't see the bike is because the Triumph has fallen over sideways. Stirling is lying on her back on top of it. She's not moving although her eyes appear to be open.

"Stirling!" Joe yells, panic in his voice, running toward her. She's sitting up before he reaches her, trying her best to remove her helmet with trembling hands.

"Cheeky!" he says, grabbing her and lifting her up, holding her against his chest. "Are you okay?"

She leans against Joe for a moment, enjoying the feel of his body pressed against her, the firm support of his arms around her, the feel of his lips kissing her cheek, her forehead. But she knows she has to get moving. She can still hear the baby.

"There's a baby crying," she says, pulling away from Joe as she finally manages to remove her helmet. She drops it to the ground, the back of it cracked where it hit the frame of the Triumph. She puts her hand up to the back of her head and can feel a goose egg. _Great_, she thinks, flinching from the pain of touching it.

"You're hurt," Joe says, alarmed, grabbing her left arm. "You're bleeding."

She looks down at her arm and can see the tear in her overcoat, a piece of metal shrapnel from the impact of the vehicles embedded in her forearm. She considers pulling it out but decides against it. "Just leave it for now," she says to Joe. "I'll worry about that later. We have to get the babies out."

He looks at her with concern, worried she's not making much sense. Behind him, he can hear a man screaming for help. He turns to look and suddenly Stirling pulls out of his arms. He reaches to grab her back but misses, watching in disbelief as she grabs a fire extinguisher mounted on one of the petrol station's support pillars and uses it to smash the back window of the Range Rover.

As she pulls out the spider-webbed glass, cutting her hand, a dog jumps through the opening, terrified and limping. It lies, wide-eyed and panting, on the ground before leaping to its feet and running into some nearby shrubbery. Meanwhile, Stirling pulls herself into the back of the Range Rover, crawling over damaged luggage and toys, trying to reach the three youngsters in the crumpled back seat. She shimmies on her side, trying to keep pressure off her belly, eventually reaching the children.

"I need a scalpel," she shouts over her shoulder to Joe, who immediately turns to the fallen Triumph, unclipping Stirling's doctor's bag from the back of the bike. He unzips it on the ground and searches madly through the various inside pockets and pouches before he finds a sheathed scalpel. He hands it to her through the back window.

"Thanks," she says, grabbing it and removing the safety cover from the blade. She leans over the back seat and starts cutting through the seat belts. She soon has a toddler freed. She lifts the little girl over the seat back and shimmies her body backwards until a pair of hands reaches in and pulls the little one out. She crawls back and cuts the older child out of his seat, struggling to pull him over the seat back. She eventually frees him and the young boy's dad reaches in beside her, dragging the youngster out. She has just freed the baby, cradling the wailing little one against her chest, when the front passenger window smashes in. She looks up to see Joe reach through, struggling to get the mother out of the front seat. "I need some assistance here," he yells over his shoulder.

Stirling slowly shimmies backwards, scrabbling to push and pull her way out of the confined space. Eventually, someone grabs her leg and begins to gently pull her out. She smiles with relief as her head finally clears the back of the Range Rover and she looks into Joe's concerned eyes. "Last one," she says, tenderly rocking the little baby who continues to cry lustily.

She leans against Joe as a paramedic takes the baby from her arms, carrying it toward a waiting ambulance. "Is everyone out?" she asks Joe, who is leading her as quickly as possible away from the petrol station.

"Yes, we got everyone out," he says, giving her a kiss on her temple. "Now, I have to get you out of here to somewhere safe," he explains. "The damn petrol station could blow up at any minute."

"The Triumph!" Stirling cries, looking back toward her downed motorcycle. "I have to get it out of there!"

"Don't worry about the bloody Triumph!" Joe says, holding onto her tightly as she struggles to go back. "I'll get it as soon as the fire brigade makes sure everything is safe. Meanwhile, I want one of the paramedics to look at your arm and check you over to make sure you're okay."

A few minutes later, she sits in the back of an open ambulance, watching Joe chat with a small group of Devon and Cornwall police constables while a paramedic stitches up the shrapnel wound on her arm. She's holding an ice pack against the back of her head and a bandage has been wrapped around her cut hand.

Numerous people stand about the lone ambulance, watching the fire brigade spray foam around the petrol pumps and the two damaged vehicles. Traffic is also crawling by on the A30 as people slow down to watch the action.

"I arranged for the fire brigade to right the Triumph," Joe says to Stirling as he walks up to the back of the ambulance. "It's been moved out of the way."

"Thank you," she says with relief, smiling at Joe. He smiles back. "How are you feeling?" he asks.

"My head hurts," she admits with a grimace.

"She doesn't have a concussion, thankfully," the paramedic says. "I've just put 15 stitches in her left arm and another 10 in her right hand. She'll have a bruised and sore back for a few days. Her blood pressure is perfect. We also had a listen and the baby is fine. Strong heart beat, no abnormalities. A very lucky lady."

"That's a relief," Joe says.

"We've just been sitting here discussing cricket," the paramedic adds. "Your wife is quite the expert."

"That she is. She never ceases to amaze me with what she is knowledgeable of."

Stirling blushes as she looks at Joe, smiling as she sees the adoration and relief in his eyes. "I love you," she mouths and he smiles. "I love you, too," he says, ignoring the surprised look on the paramedic's face.

* * *

It's well after dark when Joe drives the Triumph down the hill, pulling into the small car park in front of Portwenn's police station. It's been a long day and he's feeling every minute of it in his sore muscles and numb arse. As he parks the Triumph and shuts it down, he feels Stirling stir behind him. She's been still for most of the trip home from Truro and, at one point, Joe wondered if she had fallen asleep.

They had finally been cleared to leave the petrol station accident site around five o'clock, as dark was settling in. Joe had demanded his fellow officers deliver lunch to Stirling at the site, explaining she was pregnant and required regular meals. They had been more than accommodating, even letting the couple rest in the back of one of the police vehicles, Joe catnapping upright while Stirling slept with her head cushioned on his lap. They had been questioned multiple times about the accident, both together and apart, eventually being allowed to leave after one of the fire brigade pushed the Triumph out of the accident scene area.

Damage to the motorcycle wasn't as serious as Stirling had feared. There is a few scuff marks to the paint along the right side plus a dent in the petrol tank but they can be easily repaired. The bike ran fine and operated flawlessly all the way home.

As Joe carefully climbs off the Triumph, he reaches back to steady a very tired Stirling. Standing beside the bike, he unclips her doctor's bag and hands it to her before carefully picking her up in his arms, cradling her as he walks to the front door. "I can walk," she says sleepily, covering a yawn.

"It's tradition," Joe says as he opens the front door and carries her through. "The groom has to carry his bride over the threshold of their home."

She giggles. "You've been carrying me over the threshold of everything for the past two weeks. I'm hoping this whole threshold silliness is now over."

"Well, I was going to carry you over the threshold of our bedroom," Joe whispers in her ear. "And maybe the threshold of the bed."

Stirling laughs, reaching out with her hand and flicking on the lights to the kitchen. She promptly lets out a startled scream as she is greeted by the sight of a partially undressed PC Arthur Garrett, his trousers around his ankles, in the arms of a topless dark-haired young woman. The blushing couple are standing in the middle of the kitchen, having been caught in the middle of some amorous activity.

"Oh. My. God," Joe stutters, his eyes huge as he gazes at the topless brunette.

Stirling reaches up and promptly covers his eyes. "Arthur," she says calmly, "I think you should help your lady friend find her shirt so she can put it back on. And pull up your trousers before you fall over."

"Cheeky, what the hell are you doing?" Joe asks, struggling to uncover his eyes.

"I'm providing this young lady with a small sliver of privacy until she can get her top on. And I'd like to remind you that the only Bristols you should be looking at are mine."

He eventually manages to remove her hands from his face but not before the blushing brunette is somewhat dressed again. He gives Stirling a disappointed look, making her laugh. "You are so predictable," she says with a smile, kissing him on the cheek.

"I wasn't expecting you back this early," PC Garrett stutters.

"Obviously," Stirling says, choking back a laugh.

"I received a report about the accident in Truro and saw you were both listed as witnesses. I didn't think you would be clear of that mess for hours."

"We weren't," says Joe. "But I managed to get us out of there sooner rather than later. I see you've been practising your strip search methods."

"Stop it!" Stirling says, giving him a playful slap on the shoulder. "Put me down."

Realizing he's still cradling his bride in his arms, Joe carefully sets her down on her feet. She walks into the kitchen, extending her hand to the embarrassed young woman. "I'm Stirling," she says with a welcoming smile.

"Reagan," the young woman says softly, shaking her hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Reagan." She turns to PC Garrett and gives him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "And it's good to see you again, Arthur," she says. "Although I prefer you with your trousers on."

She turns back to look at Joe. "I'm strangely relieved to know it's not just us who get caught in these awkward and embarrassing situations. I was beginning to worry."

Joe laughs at her. "I'm going to bring in the bags," he says, turning to walk out the front door. When he returns, Stirling has removed her wool coat, her helmet and boots and is sitting at the kitchen table with Reagan and PC Garrett, describing the different sites they visited on their honeymoon. When he comes back downstairs after dropping off the bags, she's quizzing the couple on how they met and how long they've known one another.

Joe clears his throat conspicuously. "Doctor," he says seriously. "I've been experiencing this really sharp pain in my lower back. I was hoping you could look at it, maybe recommend a treatment."

Stirling stares at Joe, fighting back a smile. "Do you think I'll need my bag?"

"No, just you," he says, holding out his hand to her.

"Well, duty calls," she says, standing up from the table. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Reagan," she says with a nod, laughing as Joe reaches forward and pulls her backwards into his arms. "Maybe I'll see you in the morning. Goodnight Arthur."

She gives a slight scream as Joe heaves her over his shoulder in a fireman's hold and carries her up the stairs. "Sergeant, I have no idea what you are complaining about," she says as he carries her down the upstairs hall. "Your back seems to be perfectly fine."

"The pain has shifted," he says, walking into their bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

The muted sound of Stirling's laughter echoes down the stairs.

"Now, where were we?" asks PC Garrett, shutting off the kitchen lights.


	35. Chapter 35

Despite the odd nostalgic moment spent daydreaming about those blissful days in Penzance, alone with Joe, Stirling is glad to be home in Portwenn and back at work in the surgery. She is looking forward to getting back up to speed after her time away.

Monday proves to be a busy day at the surgery as the fallout from a small food poisoning incident at a local church fete held on the weekend works its way – literally – through some of the attendees. Molly also stops by to discuss upcoming deliveries in the area, including the Portwenn Six, as Stirling's beginning to think of them. A few village residents even loiter in the waiting room just to see how big her belly has become during the two weeks she's been away. "Yep, she's definitely popped," she overhears one slicker-wearing fisherman comment to another.

During her refreshment break at lunch, Stirling finally manages to arrange an appointment with the obstetrician – Dr. Olivia Silva – that Dr. Edson had referred her to in Wadebridge. She's hoping Joe will be able to attend the appointment, set for a week Friday. She quickly blocks off that time in the surgery's appointment book and sends a text containing the information to Joe's mobile.

That evening, she stops in at the Ellingham's house, hoping to meet with the Doc and receive updates on any important issues and happenings that may have occurred while she was away. "He isn't home yet, Stirling," Louisa explains, inviting her in. "It's his first day back at Truro and I'm sure he has a backlog to deal with."

"I know the feeling," Stirling says as they walk into the kitchen area where James Henry is busy drawing at the table. "How are you doing?" she asks Louisa, her eyes immediately drawn to the headmistress' jutting belly and awkward walk.

"I'm tired, fat, clumsy, moody, did I mention tired? I'm also experiencing the most excruciating pain in my pelvis. I can even hear clicking sounds when I waddle."

"Have you talked with the Doc about it?"

Louisa blushes slightly, rubbing at her lower back. "Martin can be a bit overly – how do I put this? – 'clinical' when it comes to dispensing medical advice. I've been afraid to mention it for fear he'll want to perform a physical exam on the kitchen table."

Stirling chokes back a laugh, imagining the Doc doing just that. "Does it hurt when you stand up from bed in the morning or after you've been resting in a chair or on the settee for a while?"

Louisa nods her head, turning to check the contents of a pot steaming on the cooker top.

"Do you feel any pain in the bottom of your pelvis, in the perineum, the area between your vagina and …?"

"I know where you mean. And yes, I have very sharp pains there, so sharp they make me cry."

Stirling gives her a sympathetic look, trying hard not to flinch as she thinks of her own growing belly and advancing pregnancy. "It sounds like pelvic girdle pain. It's caused by a stiffness or misalignment of the pelvic joints and is commonly experienced by women during their second, third, fourth, and so forth, pregnancies. Do you have any problems spreading your legs?"

Louisa spins around at the cooker and gives her a startled look, uncertain where the young doctor is going with this line of questioning. "Some might say that's how I ended up in this situation in the first place," she deadpans.

Now it's Stirling's turn to blush. "With pelvic girdle pain, it can be extremely painful for a woman to move her legs apart, like when shifting her body to get out of a car," she explains. "This can be an issue when you go into labour. Some OB-GYNs suggest you measure exactly how far you can move your knees apart without experiencing pain and try to stay within that range. The key is to avoid doing anything that makes the pain worse. That means you may want to avoid certain positions when you're having ..." She pauses for a moment, glancing at James Henry, who is busy concentrating on his drawing. "Intimate relations."

Louisa once again turns away from the cooker and looks at her with arched eyebrows. "Intimate relations are about the last thing on my mind at the moment. I feel about as sexy as a pair of white cotton granny knickers, which are the only pants that currently fit me. I'm as interested in being intimate as I am in experiencing a spinal tap."

"I see. Well, uhm, every pregnancy and woman is different," Stirling says, blushing slightly as she looks away, her mind turning to her current overactive libido and exuberant sex life. _Give me a few more months and I'll probably feel the same way_, she thinks. "I just thought I would let you know, in case this was an issue."

Louisa smiles as she turns back to her boiling pot, amused by the young doctor's obvious embarrassment.

Shaking off her unease, Stirling outlines some exercises and changes in routine Louisa can try to help limit the pain and make it more bearable. "I can refer you to a physiotherapist, if you wish, or you could try a chiropractor. Some women have had success following either of those treatment routes, although some haven't. It's hit or miss, I'm afraid."

Louisa shakes her head, stirring. "I'll try some of your suggestions and see what happens. I'm busy enough with James Henry, the school and my current check-ups without adding more appointments into the mix. Which reminds me, I'll be stopping by to see you in a few days for my monthly check-up."

Stirling nods her head. "In a few weeks, that will be increasing to weekly visits." She pulls out a chair and sits down next to James Henry. "Are you looking forward to your little brother or sister's arrival?" she asks him.

He looks up with his earnest blue eyes and nods solemnly. "Mommy says I need to be patient for the baby to grow bigger before we can play together."

"Yes, I'm afraid babies don't pop out ready to play tag or hide and seek. But you can help your mommy care for the baby until he or she is ready to join in the fun. She'd probably appreciate that."

James Henry nods his head thoughtfully. "Aunt Stirling?" he asks.

"Yes?"

"Daddy said you and Penhale are having a baby."

"Sergeant Penhale, James," Louisa corrects automatically.

Stirling smiles. "Yes, we are. But he won't be coming until a few months after your new brother or sister arrives."

"He? The baby is going to be a boy?"

"Yes, according to some special pictures we looked at that show the inside of my tummy, where the baby is."

"Did my mommy have special pictures taken too?"

"Yes, she did."

"Then why doesn't she know if there's a boy or a girl in her tummy?"

"Well, the pictures don't always show everything you want to see. And sometimes mommies and daddies don't want to know whether they're having a boy or a girl. They want it to be a surprise."

"Don't you and Penh – Sergeant Penhale want it to be a surprise?"

Stirling leans over and whispers. "I'm not very good with surprises," she admits. "I'm not always patient, not like your mommy and daddy are."

James Henry smiles. "That's what my daddy says, too."

Stirling chokes back a laugh as Louisa looks at her son sternly. "James Henry!" she says sharply. "That wasn't a very nice thing to say!"

The little boy looks confused. "But that's what daddy says – Aunt Stirling needs patience. And to choose better men."

By this point Stirling is practically weeping as she tries to maintain control of her laughter. Louisa is absolutely mortified. "I think you might need to spend some quiet time in your bedroom," she says, looking at James Henry with a frown.

"Oh, don't Louisa," Stirling says, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. "It's okay. I understand. He's just repeating what the Chief has probably said dozens of times. It's not his fault."

"You need to think about what you are going to say before you open your mouth, young man," Louisa explains to her little boy. "You should think about how the other person is going to feel about what you say. You don't like it when your friends says unkind things to you."

"I'm sorry, Aunt Stirling," James Henry says solemnly.

"It's okay, mate. According to your daddy, I might have very little patience and terrible taste in men but I still have a pretty good sense of humour." She ruffles his hair affectionately and watches as he adds a few trees to his drawing.

"Aunt Stirling?" he asks a few minutes later.

"Yes?"

"If your baby is a boy, does that mean he'll be just like his daddy?"

Stirling pauses for a moment, gathering her thoughts on how best to explain genetic diversity. "Not exactly. He'll have parts of me and parts of his daddy."

"But you're a girl and he's a boy. How can he be like his mommy and still be a boy?"

"Good question! Let's use you as an example. You have light hair and blue eyes like your daddy, right?"

He nods his head.

"But your nose, lips and chin are just like your mommy's. And I know that sweet disposition and artistic ability came from her as well. Our baby will be the same. He might be a little boy but he'll have different characteristics from both Sergeant Penhale and I. He'll be an individual with his own unique appearance and personality. The world would be pretty boring if all little boys were like their daddies and all little girls were like their mommies, don't you think?"

James Henry nods his head sagely and is silent for a few moments. "I can't wait to tell my daddy," he eventually says, smiling. "He says your baby is going to be an idiot just like his daddy. I'm going to tell him he's wrong."

For one of the few times in her life that she can recall, Stirling is struck speechless, her mind hovering between the overwhelming need to laugh hysterically at the outrageous rudeness of the comment and a strong urge to be deeply offended.

"James Henry, go to your room right now!" Louisa says sharply, her face bright red with embarrassment. Completely baffled by his mother's anger, the little boy bursts into tears and runs for his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

"I'm terribly sorry, Stirling," Louisa says. "He's like a little sponge, he sucks up everything he hears. He just spits it out without any thought about what he's saying."

_Is she talking about James Henry or the Doc?_ Stirling wonders, her mind still reeling.

Just then, the side door opens and Dr. Ellingham calls out a greeting, striding down the hall and into the kitchen. He pauses in the doorway, sensing a tension in the room. He can also hear James Henry sobbing down the hall.

"What's going on?" he asks, his eyes bouncing between Louisa and Stirling. "Welcome home, Dr. Aylesworth," he adds.

Louisa turns and glares at him, annoyed with his terrible sense of timing, his lack of self-censorship when speaking in front of his impressionable young son and, his worst fault of all, his lack of tact.

"What?" he asks, his eyes wide with curiosity and innocence as he looks at Louisa.

With a shake of her head, Stirling awakens from her shocked stupor, standing up so quickly from the kitchen table, she knocks over her chair. She glances at her watch, fighting back the stinging tears she can feel gathering behind her eyes. "Just look at the time," she chokes out, her voice thick with emotion. "I need to get home for dinner. Joe must be wondering where I am."

She grabs her doctor's bag and leaps for the kitchen doorway, talking over her shoulder as she rushes. "Sorry for interrupting you, Louisa. Thanks for the chat. I'll see you in the surgery later this week."

She brushes past the Doc, muttering something indecipherable, refusing to look him in the eyes. As Stirling passes him, she struggles to control her emotions, emitting a strange choking sound as she fights back a sob. Before he can say a word, she's out the side door, disappearing with a slam.

The Doc looks back at Louisa, feeling like he's entered some strange, alternate universe – that is, if he believed in alternate universes. "What the hell is going on?" he demands. "Why was Dr. Aylesworth here? And what on Earth is wrong with her?"

Louisa continues to glare at him, shaking her head. "Stirling was here hoping to speak with you, wanting to catch up with happenings at the surgery over the past fortnight," she says in a clipped voice. "As for what's wrong with her? You!"

She feels her anger starting to shift over to tears and takes a deep breath, trying to control her emotions and failing miserably. "Oh, Martin! How could you?" she finally sobs, turning and walking from the kitchen down the hall. A few seconds later, he hears the door of their bedroom slam.

He looks around the kitchen – pot steaming on the cooker, coloured pencils and paper on the table, plates stacked and ready to be set out, the sound of crying echoing down the hall. "Everyone's lost their bloody minds!" he mutters, turning off the hob on the cooker.

* * *

Stirling stops at the top of the hill to catch her breath and rest. She has a painful stitch in her side from over-exerting herself as she rushed away in the dark from the Ellingham's house. She digs in the side pocket of her doctor's bag, pulling out her puffer and sucking back a blast of spray. _It's been a while since I've needed to do that_, she thinks, holding in the medication for a few seconds, her heart pounding in her ears.

She wipes at a few stray tears tracking down her cheeks. _Bloody Chief_, she thinks angrily, shoving her puffer back into its pocket. _Sometimes you can be such a tosser!_ She's a bit surprised by her reaction to James Henry parroting his father's comment. She thought she was immune to the Doc's caustic opinions, especially when they pertain to her relationship with Joe, but this one stings.

_How dare he insult my baby! Or my husband!_ she thinks, kicking at an empty garbage bin she can see at the edge of the sidewalk, light from a nearby window glinting off its surface. Her foot connects with the steel can, causing the loose lid to fly off with a loud bang. She quickly picks it up and jams it back on the bin, waving at the silhouette of a nearby resident who has come out armed with a broom to see what all the noise is about.

"Lovely evening," she calls from the darkness, grabbing her doctor's bag and marching into the night toward the police station. As she walks down the hill, she notices a light bobbing upward toward her. As they move closer to one another, she sees it is Joe, using the torch from his duty belt to light his way. He suddenly shines it into her eyes, blinding her. She throws up a hand, trying to block the bright beam.

"There's my missus," he says, finally lowering the light as he walks up to her. All Stirling can see are floating white spots as she feels his arms wrap around her, pull her against his chest, his lips gently touching hers. "I was worried. You hadn't come home and it was dark. I thought I'd better trot out and see if I could find you."

"And here I am and here you are," she says, looking up at his face with a smile. She feels his fingers gently remove her doctor's bag handle from her grip and she reaches both her hands up to cup his face, her fingers gently stroking his bristly cheeks. She leans forward and presses her lips against his. He chuckles against her mouth, his arms moving around her again, her doctor's bag bouncing against her arse as his pulls her close again. She feels a hand cup one of her bum cheeks and give it a squeeze, making her growl deep in her throat, reciprocating with her own hand gripping his arse possessively. They kiss aggressively, hungrily, like they're starving for one another. It's just the first day back to their regular routines and already they are missing the companionship, the intimacy they shared for those two weeks.

Joe eventually pulls his lips away from Stirling, tenderly caressing her cheek. "Well, hello to you too," he whispers with a smile. "You obviously missed me as much as I missed you."

"I did," she says, her voice choking a bit on her rising emotions.

"What's the matter?" he asks, cupping her face so he can try to look into her eyes, an impossible task in the darkness.

"It's nothing," she says hastily.

Joe's silent for a moment, staring at her in the dim light. Eventually his body shifts, pulling her closer. "Are you hungry?" he breathes against her hair near her right ear. She nods her head, rubbing against his cheek. "Let's walk to The Crab and have some dinner. And maybe later we can put a few pounds in the digital jukebox and have a close dance or five."

Stirling smiles and kisses his cheek softly. "That sounds wonderful but I should put my bag away."

"Don't worry, I'll carry it," Joe says, grabbing her left hand and turning to walk back up the hill, retracing the steps she had just taken away from the centre of the village. They walk in companionable silence through the dark streets, the odd lit window casting the shadows of people inside their homes onto the sidewalk in front of them.

"Did you have a busy day?" she asks Joe, squeezing his hand affectionately.

"PC Garrett spent the morning briefing me on what occurred locally during the two weeks we were away. It's been fairly quiet, nothing too surprising this time of year. He left for Bude just before lunch and I did some patrolling in the afternoon, checked on some of the more isolated cottages and farms to make sure everything was okay. What about you?"

Stirling sighs. "The surgery was very busy. Morwenna brought me up-to-date on some of the more important issues. Molly and I discussed the upcoming baby boom. And I finally booked an appointment in Wadebridge. Did you get my text?"

"I did and it has been duly noted in the station log book," Joe assures her.

"I stopped in to see the Chief after surgery but he wasn't home. I visited with Louisa and James Henry for a while before I left. I never did get to talk to him about how his fortnight of coverage went. I guess he was delayed in Truro."

She feels a shiver of guilt for not being 100 per cent honest with Joe but she's hesitant to bring up the Doc's comment.

"Hmmmm, are you sure you're okay? You sound a bit upset."

"Don't worry," she says, leaning her head against his shoulder as they walk. "I'm fine. Just a bit tired."

He looks over at her but says nothing as they approach the brightly lit pub. Joe grabs the handle of the front door and holds it open for Stirling, who feels a welcoming rush of warm air as she enters the cheery building.

"Doc Stirling, Joe, welcome home!" Ben calls from behind the bar. A few other people call out or wave to the couple as the walk in. "Enjoy the honeymoon?" someone asks with a lecherous laugh.

"Ben, do you a have a quiet table tucked away somewhere we could sit?" Joe asks, pulling Stirling closer to his side.

"Back dining room is pretty much empty," Ben says, pointing with his thumb. "You have your pick of tables. Settle somewhere comfy – it's nice by the fireplace – and I'll send Elsie over in a few minutes to take your orders. We still have full menu for another hour."

"Thanks Ben," Stirling says as they walk through to the room. Mrs. Tishell is sitting at a brightly lit table near the bar, reading the Cornish Guardian and nursing a brandy, as the couple walk by. They settle into a private booth tucked in near the pub's large fireplace, which is crackling merrily. Joe pulls her close beside him, putting his arm around her.

After they give their drink and food orders to Elsie and she returns with Joe's pint plus Stirling's ice water and glass of milk, they sit together quietly. She stares at the tabletop, slowly tearing her serviette into long strips, her mind back in the Doc's kitchen. Joe watches her, wondering when she will finally break down and tell him what's bothering her.

"Does he ever get to you?" Stirling finally asks, seemingly out of nowhere.

"Who?"

"The Chief. His snide comments, rude behaviour, brusk mannerisms, judgemental attitude – does he ever upset you? You seem to be one of his favourite people to pick on but you never seem to react. Don't you ever feel tempted to just knock that sanctimonious scowl right off his face?"

Joe is silent for a moment, his mind racing as he tries to think of a valid excuse to use his mobile so he can look up the meaning of sanctimonious. He draws a blank, deciding instead to just ignore the word and answer her original question.

"I didn't notice his behaviour at first," he admits. "I'm not sure if I was just that slow, ignorant of what was going on or just didn't care. It took me a while to catch on. I used to think if I could become his friend, maybe earn his respect, his behaviour toward me would improve. A very silly idea. He pretty much has no friends and isn't really interested in having any. So, I choose to ignore his comments, his behaviour towards me. But it still hurts sometimes."

He looks up at Stirling with a sheepish smile. "Besides the odd comment from Louisa, I think you're the only person who has ever really stood up to him when it comes to his treatment of me. It's one of the many things I love about you."

She smiles back at him, tenderly kissing him on the cheek. She takes a sip from her milk and leans against his shoulder with a sigh.

"What brought this line of questioning on?" he asks her, gently petting her hair. She closes her eyes, enjoying the caress.

Stirling doesn't really want to ruin the evening further with talk of the Doc's behaviour and cutting comments. She doesn't want to upset Joe with his rude prediction about their baby – she's offended enough for both of them. After considering the situation, she decides to deal with it on her own.

"I'm fine," she says with a smile. "I was just thinking about some of the goofy comments the Chief has made to me in the past, wondering whether he actually realizes how offensive his behaviour can be."

It's at that moment that Elsie arrives with their meals and conversation ceases as they tuck in to their dinners, sharing the odd bite with one another. After, as promised, Joe loads a few pounds worth of coins into The Crab's new digital jukebox machine, and chooses four slow songs.

Ben turns with surprise as the first song starts and smiles as he watches the local Sergeant dance with his new wife, holding her close against him in the flickering light of the fire. Hoping to add to the romance of the moment, the barkeep fiddles with some switches behind the bar, dimming the back dining room lights and switching on a string of faery lights mounted over the fireplace.

"Is it me or did it just become darker in here?" Stirling asks, her eyes closed as she snuggles her head against Joe's chest. Her hands slowly rub up and down his back as they hold one another and move to the music.

"I think Ben's trying to add to the mood," Joe whispers in her ear before kissing down her neck.

"A romantic barkeep, imagine that," she says softly, opening her eyes and lifting her chin, leaning in closer to press her lips against Joe's. He cups his hand against the back of her head and pulls her closer, his other hand supporting her lower back. They crush their lips together fervently, momentarily forgetting where they are, enjoying the feel of their bodies melded together.

Eventually Stirling pulls back breathlessly. "If we're not careful, we're not going to make it through the three remaining songs," she says with a gasp, her fingers tickling at the back of Joe's shirt collar. She returns her head to its resting place against his chest and continues to move, her body close against him.

One of the elderly fishermen sitting at the bar turns to the man seated next to him, elbowing him lightly in the ribs to get his attention. "I'm glad me missus is home tonight watchin' 'er shows," he says gruffly. "If she 'eard this music, she'd 'ave me takin' 'er for a turn around the room. I'd rather do a jig with a jellyfish than waltz with that barmy ol' bird."

The Doc glares at the scraggly old man next to him, doing his best to wipe the remains of the chowder that has spilled down the front of his bespoke suit. And for about the tenth time in the past 10 minutes, he wonders how he ended up eating his dinner at The Crab and Lobster on a Monday evening.

Even after 30 minutes of discussion, negotiation and, eventually, begging, he had been unable to convince Louisa to leave the bedroom. With dinner ruined on the cooker top, he'd warmed up some hoops in tomato sauce for James Henry with a side of raw vegetables before helping the little boy get ready for bed, tucking him in and reading a bedtime story. Banished from his own bedroom and still not understanding why, he walked down to The Crab for a quick bite to eat only to discover Dr. Aylesworth and Penhale enjoying an intimate dinner in the back dining room. Although tempted to ask the young doctor for her insight into what is currently aggravating his wife, the Doc is hesitant to approach her, preferring Louisa tell him directly – the marriage counsellor had stressed open communication. In light of this, he decided to avoid the couple, sitting instead at the bar. It's his misfortune to have chosen a seat next to the most friendly and talkative fisherman in Portwenn.

But now, as he sips his chowder in his now damp suit, the Doc is tempted to admit defeat, walk up to Dr. Aylesworth and demand she tell him why Louisa is so angry with him. It's obvious she's involved somehow, considering her odd behaviour earlier. And it's also obvious the situation is serious. This is the angriest he's seen his wife since James Henry was a baby.

Finishing up the last of his dinner, the Doc stands up, tossing some notes down on the bar with a nod to Ben. He walks over the doorway leading to the dimly lit back dining room and watches Penhale and Dr. Aylesworth dance. He's never been a big fan of dancing, although he had been forced to learn in boarding school. But as he watches the couple move to the music, he can see the appeal of holding someone you love close to your body, your arms wrapped around them, the intimacy. _Perhaps Louisa and I should do more dancing together?_ he considers, flinching slightly at the thought of all the crushed toes he would most likely experience. It would be worth it. Be romantic, the counsellor had advised him, a feat he considered impossible at the time. But this idea looks like it might work.

With a final glance over his shoulder at the dancing couple, the Doc walks out the door of The Crab and climbs the hill toward home, chanting in his head: _Be romantic, be romantic_.

* * *

Later that evening, Stirling is awakened by the strident ringing of her mobile. She fumbles on the bedside table, finally managing to clutch it in her fingers. "Hellhumph?" she mutters as she answers the call. "Yes," she agrees, sounding a bit more awake. "I'm sorry, that's not my expertise." She's forced to hold the mobile away from her ear as the caller yells. "There's no need to be belligerent and rude," she says sharply. "I understand you feel this is an emergency but you must understand, I have no training in that area."

As she listens to the person on the other end of the call, Stirling gently shifts Joe's head from where it rests on her chest over to his pillow. He grumbles slightly, rolls over and goes back to sleep. Moving slowly, she sits up in bed, shifting so she is sitting on the edge. It's half two in the morning, she notices on her alarm clock.

"Okay, okay, I'll talk you through what I know," she finally says. Slowly and carefully, with the odd pause to take a swallow from the glass of water on her bedside table, Stirling walks him through the steps required.

"Has this occurred before?" she finally asks with a yawn, struggling to focus. "Do you plan to get her pregnant again? I'm asking because the odds are very high this will happen again. Most people just give up and move on based on this problem but, from the sound of things, she means a lot to you."

Stirling's quiet for several minutes as the caller recounts the numerous qualities of the beautiful and delightful love of his life.

"Considering her importance to you, I suggest with her next pregnancy you arrange to have her vulva stitched shut by your local doc. This will keep her uterus in place until the end of the pregnancy but will still allow her an opening to urinate. As soon as she goes into labour, cut the stitches, help her deliver and be prepared to wash, rinse and reinsert her uterus because, guaranteed, she'll prolapse again."

Stirling's quiet for a few more minutes, listening. "I'm glad I could help. Hope it works out for you. Good night, Arnie."

She disconnects her mobile, drops it on the bedside table and promptly falls backward into the bed, her head bouncing on her pillow. Joe rolls over and reaches for her, his left hand eventually landing on her growing stomach. "What in the bloody hell were you going on about?" he mutters. "You're now giving people advice over the phone on sewing women's fannies shut? I may be a man but I was still lying here cringing in sympathy during that exchange."

She gives a big laugh. "That was Arnold Nugent," she says, enjoying the feel of Joe massaging her belly. "He has a cow with a prolapsed uterus and was looking for advice."

"A cow? With a what?"

"A prolapsed uterus. This occurs when all or part of the uterus is expelled from the body through the vagina during labour. It can happen with cattle and can be a real problem to treat. His vet is out on another call and he's rather fond of his Jersey cow so he thought he'd contact me. As the daughter of a veterinarian, I just happen to know what to do in that situation so I stepped him through the process."

Joe laughs. "I thought you were talking about a pregnant woman," he says, continuing to rub Stirling's stomach. As he begins to drift off to sleep again, his hand pauses.

"Don't stop," she mutters, patting his hand. "That feels really good."

Joe startles awake again, opening his eyes and realizing she is lying uncovered. "Get back under the covers, Cheeky," he says, covering her with the duvet. He cuddles up behind her, his arms wrapped around her. "You must be freezing."

He kisses her cheek, snuggling her body against his chest. "My Stirling," he mutters sleepily. "GP by day, cow doctor by night."

Two hours later, the night is disturbed again by the ringing of a mobile. This time, it's Joe's. "Sergeant Penhale, 3021," he recites sleepily, sitting on the edge of the bed, stifling a yawn.

"Yes," he says, suddenly more alert. "Where?" he asks, grabbing the biro and pad of paper that sit on his bedside table. He starts writing hurriedly. "When?" He writes some more. "I understand. On my way."

Clicking off his mobile, Joe leaps from the bed and grabs a clean pair of boxers from his dresser. He's pulling on his uniform trousers when Stirling rolls over, rubbing sleepily at her eyes.

"Where are you off to at half four in the morning?" she asks, propping herself up on her left elbow.

"There's been an accident along the B road to Delabole," he explains, slipping on his uniform shirt and tucking it into his trousers. "There's no officer on site yet."

"Is everyone okay?"

"There's been no request for an ambulance or medical assistance," Joe explains, tightening his belt and clipping on his tie before pulling his navy blue uniform jumper over his head.

"Maybe I should come with you, just in case," Stirling says, moving to the side of the bed and sitting up.

"Just lie down and go back to sleep, Cheeky," he says, sitting next to her as he pulls on his socks. He leans over and kisses her on the cheek. "It's just a minor accident, no injuries. The only reason they need a police officer there is to take statements, help coordinate the clean-up and file a report for insurance. And I'm closest."

She looks at him uncertainly, not entirely convinced.

"Just lie back," Joe says, grabbing her legs and lifting them back onto the mattress as she laughs. He applies a bit of pressure to her shoulders, easing her head back against the pillows. "And relax." He grabs the duvet and blankets and tucks her back into bed before leaning down and kissing her gently. "I'll probably be back before you wake up in the morning."

"Somehow, I doubt it," she says, pulling him down by his shirt collar for another kiss. "Be careful."

"Always," he says cockily, almost causing Stirling to snort out loud. She relaxes against her pillow as she watches him leave the bedroom, carefully closing the door behind him. Two seconds later, he's back, grabbing his mobile from beside the bed. "Almost forgot this," he whispers, quietly closing the door behind him. A few minutes later, she hears the Land Rover start up outside, the flashing blue lights splashing across the bedroom walls as she listens to it drive away.

She closes her eyes and, a few minutes later, drifts off to sleep.


	36. Chapter 36

Stirling's not sure what wakes her – the pulsing wail of her alarm clock or the window-rattling pounding on the front door. As she slaps off the alarm, she looks at the time – seven o'clock. "Bloody hell!" she mutters, climbing wearily out of bed and slipping on her housecoat. She ties it as tightly as she can around her rounded middle as she moves as fast as she can down the stairs. "I'm coming!" she shouts over the next round of door-banging.

"Don't get your knickers in a knot," she snaps, yanking open the door. She gasps as she comes face-to-face with the Doc, his fist raised to hit the door again. As usual, he's dressed in an impeccable dark suit, pinstriped, and a blinding white shirt with a red tie. Unusual are his bloodshot eyes with dark, over-packed bags underneath, mussed hair, and a shave that looks anything but close, smooth and thorough.

Stirling feels a strong compulsion to slam the door in his face but fights it off. "Morning Chief," she says, her eyebrows raised.

He looks at her for several moments with tired eyes and she feels her sympathies swell. _I must be hormonal and out of my mind_, she thinks as she opens the door wider, gesturing for him to come in.

"Would you like a tea or coffee?" she asks, closing the door behind him. "I'm afraid I can't offer you any espresso – no machine – but there may be some fresh juice in the refrigerator."

"I'll have a white coffee," he says, sinking down with an air of exhaustion into a chair at the kitchen table.

Stirling bustles around the kitchen, preparing his coffee and pouring herself a glass of milk.

"Where's Penhale?" he asks, looking around.

"He was called out very early this morning to a road traffic accident near Delabole," she explains, waiting for his cup of coffee to brew. "I'm expecting him home soon."

She adds milk to the Doc's coffee and sets it before him, along with the sugar bowl, before pulling out a chair and sitting across from him, gripping her glass of milk. She tightens her dressing gown sash self-consciously. "To what do I owe the honour of this early morning visit?" she asks, taking a gulp of milk.

He sips his coffee. "This is good," he says with some surprise, immediately taking a second taste. "Not what I would have expected from someone who doesn't usually drink coffee or do work in the kitchen."

Stirling gives him a half smile, shaking her head slightly. "I'm just full of surprises." _And you just keep on delivering the compliments_, she thinks sarcastically.

The Doc frowns slightly and clears his throat self-consciously. "Louisa is no longer speaking to me and has banned me from our bedroom."

Stirling drops her glass of milk down on the kitchen table, causing some of the liquid to splash over the side. If he had told her he planned to give up medicine so he could study and train to become a clown, and then run away to join the circus, she doesn't think she'd be more surprised.

"As I'm sure you can tell by my rather unpolished appearance, I experienced a rather uncomfortable night sleeping on the chesterfield in our lounge last night," the Doc continues, grabbing a serviette from a basket sitting in the middle of the table and wiping up Stirling's small milk mess. "Despite repeated requests, Louisa is refusing to tell me what she's angry about. So I've come to appeal to you as a fellow medical colleague – and as a woman who might have some insight into these kinds of situations – to please explain to me what I've done wrong so I can correct my behaviour and apologize."

Stirling stares at him in wide-eyed disbelief. She has never seen this side of the Doc – ever. _He's discussing his personal life with ME? He wants MY help? He thinks because I have a uterus, I have some secret knowledge into why women lock their husbands out of the bedroom?_ _Aliens have kidnapped the Chief_, she thinks wildly, feeling a fit of giggles rising up inside her. She fights it back. _This is not a laughing matter._

She clears her throat, stalling for time. "What makes you believe I know anything?" she asks, hesitant to put him out of his misery.

"You must know something," he says. "You were at my house when I arrived home last night. You appeared upset and distraught when you left. I asked Louisa and she said you had been waiting to talk to me about how things went at the surgery while you were away. She added that I was to blame for you leaving upset. She then burst into tears, ran from the kitchen, slammed our bedroom door and locked me out. She hasn't spoken to me since."

Stirling feels like jumping out of her chair and doing a fist pump. _You go Louisa!_ she shouts in her head.

"Have you asked James Henry about what happened?"

He stares at her with a puzzled look. "What would James Henry know about his mother's emotional state? He's just a little boy, a toddler. He doesn't fully understand what's going on around him."

Stirling looks down at the kitchen tabletop and runs her fingers along the outside of her glass, making patterns in the condensation. "I think he understands a lot more than you give him credit for. And I believe that might be part of the problem."

"What problem?" the Doc asks her, sounding frustrated and slightly desperate.

"The problem you're currently experiencing with Louisa. Yesterday, while I was waiting for you to arrive home from Truro, James Henry shared some insights and opinions with his mother and I that aren't typically held by three-year-old boys. At first, I thought they were amusing. I'm afraid Louisa did not."

The Doc looks pale with a slight green tinge to his face. "What kind of insights and opinions?"

Stirling takes a deep breath. "Aunt Stirling needs patience."

He stares at her for a moment and frowns. "That's it? What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing. I laughed, especially when he informed both of us that was what his Daddy says. Of course, he also informed us you believe I need to choose better men."

His face takes on a slightly red hue. "I, I, hmmm, I make no apology for my thoughts on that matter. I have always expressed some misgivings about your relationship with Penhale."

"Indeed, you have," Stirling agrees. "So it came as no surprise to either me or Louisa. I think most surprising was the fact it came from the mouth of a three-year-old boy who really shouldn't a) have an opinion about my personal life, and b) be expressing it. Of course, neither should his father but that's never stopped him before."

Stirling sighs and takes another drink from her glass of milk, her hand shaking slightly.

"Up to then, I wasn't overly upset. I was actually rather amused. Louisa? She was less so. But I begged her not to be angry. James Henry heard some things his father said in passing, no biggie. I wasn't offended; I'd heard them from you before. But then he let us know about your concerns for my baby, mine and Joe's."

Stirling pauses, working hard to keep her emotions in check. She doesn't want to become angry or mean and hurtful, even though it is tempting. She knows she'd feel triumphant for about two minutes and then racked with guilt for days after. It just isn't worth it. When she looks up at the Doc, she's surprised to see worry and concern on his normally emotionless face. _Worry and concern for whom?_ she wonders.

"I like to think I have a fairly healthy sense of humour. I work hard not to take myself too seriously, a danger in our line of work. I've stumbled down that path before and I don't want to revisit it. Hell, I've even had first hand experience on how it can lead to a God complex," she adds with a rueful laugh. "But when you insult my husband and my unborn child, I take it very seriously. In fact, I tend to become somewhat angry. That's where my mind was last evening after James Henry informed Louisa and I that you think my baby is going to be an idiot just like his daddy. Louisa wasn't very pleased either."

The kitchen becomes so still, Stirling can hear the mantel clock in the lounge ticking. She's afraid to look up at the Doc, worried she might lose her temper or her nerve. Instead, she plays with a small puddle of water on the kitchen tabletop, drawing patterns with her fingers. The silence continues.

Eventually, the Doc clears his throat awkwardly. "James Henry told you that?" he asks.

"Yes. We were discussing genetic diversity, specifically how babies inherit traits from both parents, not just one. His exact words were: 'I can't wait to tell my daddy. He says your baby is going to be an idiot just like his daddy. I'm going to tell him he's wrong,'" she recites back without hesitation, still staring at the tabletop.

The ticking of the clock continues to echo in the room. And Stirling refuses to be the one to break this new stretch of silence. She's curious how long it will last. She's managed to count to 256 before the Doc clears his throat again.

"I'm very sorry he said that to you," he says quietly. "It must have been very upsetting."

She looks up and stares him in the eyes. And waits. Nothing.

"That's it?" she asks, mimicking one of his earlier questions to her. "That's all you have to say? 'I'm very sorry he said that to you?' Do you think I'm angry at James Henry for this?"

"Well, logically, he is the one who said it to you," the Doc says, looking surprised.

For all of her avoidance techniques – her counting, deep breathing exercises, backwards recitation of the periodic table of elements, and other silly mind tricks – Stirling realizes there is no way she can avoid this showdown. Or control her temper.

"You must be joking?" she snarls. "He was repeating what he overheard you say! Don't just deflect this back on your three-year-old son! Take some responsibility for your actions."

He stares back at her in disbelief. "How dare you speak to me that way!"

"How dare I?" she asks, her voice beginning to rise. "How dare you! Maybe it's time someone DID speak to you this way! From the first day I drove into this loopy village, I have watched people tiptoe around you and willingly accept your incredibly rude behaviour. I dried their tears when you insulted them. I listened to them bang on for hours about you. I made excuses for you. I even put up with snide comments you made to me. Why? Because you are my Chief. I respect you – your dedication to your patients and your calling, your gift for healing, your vast knowledge of medicine, your surgical skills, your willingness to take a chance on me when others wouldn't – all of it amazing and awe inspiring. But now I wonder – did you ever have any respect for me? I used to think you did but I'm not sure anymore."

The Doc opens his mouth to say something but stops as Stirling stands up from the table. She can no longer just calmly sit across from him; she has to pace.

"What you said, it hurt me very deeply. It's bad enough you insulted Joe – Joe who has such high regard for you, looks up to you, who is honest, trustworthy, incredibly loyal and forgiving, so much so that he excuses every nasty comment and mean word you say to him and comes back for more. Sure, he's different – he's overly serious about some aspects of his job, gets too wrapped up in the small details, lacks confidence in his abilities, doesn't always see the obvious or think things through logically. But those are also some of the qualities I love about him. He's funny and goofy, romantic and loving. And he's definitely NOT an idiot or inept – that's not the Joe I know.

"So, he's not your favourite person in the world – I think everyone in Portwenn is aware of that. I never expected you to become drinking mates or go to pub quiz night together. But I thought you might show a little bit of decency, a sliver of respect. I told you once that you didn't have to approve of my husband but you had to at least accept him. And you obviously haven't – not if you can make a comment like you did, in front of your own son. I love Joe and I'm sorry if you don't understand that."

"And then you made that remark about my baby." She pauses, struggling to control her emotions. "I'm not sure I will ever be able to forgive you for that. That comment cut through the bone and sliced open my heart. It hurts too much to even think about it."

She looks over at the Doc, still sitting at the kitchen table, looking slightly lost and a bit shell shocked. "You wanted to know what happened at your house yesterday – there you have it. As for why Louisa is angry with you, I'm sure her reasons are a little different than mine. They probably have more to do with James Henry and your lack of self censorship. I'm not sure exactly what you can do to make it up to her. I think an apology and flowers would be a good start. But I do wish you luck."  
She leans against the kitchen counter with her arms crossed against her chest and watches the Doc. He sits for a moment, looking deep in thought, before he stands up. He moves like he's just aged 10 years. "Thank you for explaining everything to me," he says softly. "And for your honesty." He turns to walk out the door but pauses, straightening his shoulders and pulling down his suit jacket sleeves.

"I've always respected you, Dr. Aylesworth," he says, his back to her. "You and I may have different approaches to patient care and treatment but those qualities you admire in me – the dedication, the knowledge, the skills, the gift for healing – you also possess. I wasn't taking a chance when I brought you on at the surgery; you were taking a chance with me."

He takes a deep breath, slowly exhaling. "I struggle with the banalities of life, the personal interactions, the social niceties. Old habits are hard to break and it would seem I have more work to do." With those final words, the Doc opens the door and leaves.

Stirling sinks down onto the nearest kitchen chair and cradles her face in her hands, her elbows propped on the tabletop. "Shit," she whispers. _Where was the Doc's stinging rebuke? His razor sharp criticism? His usual verbal sparring?_ she thinks. _Why did he look so defeated? Could one night without his Louisa break him that much?_

She looks up in surprise as she hears the sound of the station door opening. Joe stands in the doorway, his eyes looking at her sympathetically.

"How long have you been standing there?" she asks with a sigh.

"Long enough," he says, walking into the room, carefully closing the door behind him. "Actually, I could hear you in the car park as soon as I stepped out of the Land Rover." He nods his head toward the door the Doc exited. "Is that what's been bothering you since last night?"

She nods her head, rubbing tiredly at her eyes.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

She looks away. "I didn't want you to get upset. I decided I would deal with it myself." She laughs ruefully. "And I sure have dealt with it! I've mucked it all up royally."

Joe sits down across the table from her and reaches out to gently hold one of her hands. "I don't think you mucked it up. I thought you spoke rather well."

Stirling looks up at him and smiles. "That's very sweet of you to say but not entirely accurate. I lost my temper. I promised myself I wouldn't and then I just turned around and did it anyway. And now I feel horrible." She sinks her face back into her hands again. "I could have handled that much better than I did," she says, her voice muffled by her fingers.

"Well, I thought you were brilliant."

Stirling looks up at Joe, propping her chin with her hands, both elbows on the table. "Have I ever told you how much I love you?" she asks him.

Joe is quiet for a moment, considering her question. "I think it's come up once or twice."

She laughs. "Did you get that road traffic accident cleared up before the Portwenn to Delabole rush hour congestion snarled things up?"

He looks at his watch. "Yes, I did and just in time, too," he says with a smile. He quickly glances at his watch again. "Did you know it's going on eight?"

Stirling stops smiling. "No!" she says, her eyes widening in disbelief. She jumps out of her chair and scampers for the stairs. "Morwenna's going to kill me! I'm going to be late for surgery!"

Joe jumps up and runs after her. "I call bagsie on the shower," he says.

"I don't think so, Lover Boy! I need to be at the surgery in 35 minutes or less!" she says, running into the loo. Before she can shut the door, he's in there with her.

"Well, I've been up since half four wrestling with smashed motors, broken glass and half-asleep breakdown lorry drivers. I smell like petrol and sweat. You, on the other hand, smell fantastic. I really need this shower more than you."

"Nice try, Sergeant," Stirling says with a laugh, untying her housecoat and hanging it on the back of the door. She steps into the tub and shuts the shower curtain with a flourish. "I'm ready first, I get the first shower."

Joe quickly starts stripping off his uniform as she starts the water. A minute later, he rips back the curtain, causing Stirling to give a startled gasp. "I'm ready. I need this shower," he says, stepping into the tub between her and the spraying water.

She starts laughing. "Joe, you still have your socks on. You're going to slip."

No sooner does she say it then he almost goes down, scrambling to grab the safety bar on the wall. She starts laughing harder. "Take your bloody socks off before you break your neck!" she cries, holding her stomach as it shakes with each laugh.

"You think this is funny?" he says with mock severity, ripping off his soaked socks and throwing them out of the tub and into the sink.

"Yes, I do. We're scrapping over who gets the first shower. I mean, you're calling bagsie. How old are you?"

"Old enough to do this," he says, grabbing her about the waist and pushing her against the shower wall, his lips leaving a searing kiss against hers.

Stirling looks into his eyes, reaching out and rubbing her thumb along his bottom lip. "You're going to make me even later for work," she says softly, leaning forward for another.

He kisses her again, longer, harder. "You should have let me have the first shower," he whispers in her ear, his hands travelling lower down her back.

She gives a startled gasp. "I don't give in that easily," she teases.

"Oh, you're going to give in," Joe says confidently, his fingers moving to tickle her sides, making Stirling start laughing all over again.


	37. Chapter 37

"I was surprised when I received your call, Martin. You don't mind if I call you Martin, do you?"

"No."

"Good. I'm not sure if you remember but you can call me Oliver or Dr. Samuels. As I was saying, I was surprised to receive your call. My assistant had to dig in the archives to look up your records. It's been 15 months since you were here last. And, I see from your file, my receptionist even called you five times to book a new appointment. Did you finally get the messages?"

The Doc glares at the young doctor flipping through his patient file behind the fancy, modern desk in the austere consulting room. He says nothing.

"Sorry. I know, bad attempt at humour. So, how can I assist you Martin? I cleared two hours, at your request, and I'm here to help."

The Doc sits quietly for a moment, gathering his thoughts. It had taken him an hour to find the resolve to call Dr. Samuels' office in Wadebridge, an hour spent ruminating in his home office in his empty house, Louisa at work and James Henry at nursery school. He had cancelled all of his appointments for the day and found another surgeon to cover two voluntary procedures scheduled at Truro. He has to find a way to correct what has happened, to make it better.

He hates coming here, talking about his feelings, his behaviour. But he's done it before and seen results. For more than a year, he and Louisa attended marriage counselling with a colleague of Dr. Samuels, referred highly by Ruth. And it had worked. They had sifted through their problems, discussed their past and their hopes for the future, strengthened their communication, discovered one another again. On top of the marriage counselling, the Doc had seen Dr. Samuels on his own, working through his personal issues, his social difficulties, his parents and childhood. He had loathed every minute. And when his relationship with Louisa had improved, he had ceased coming, believing his work was done. He'd obviously been wrong.

"I've made a mistake," he says quietly. "I'm hoping you can help me find a way to correct it. I want to go back to the way things were with my family before, the harmony."

"So what you're saying is you feel there is currently a lack of harmony between you and Louisa?"

"Yes."

"And you feel this was caused by the 'mistake' that you made?"

"Yes."

"What is it that makes you believe your relationship with Louisa is out of harmony?"

With a sigh, the Doc explains the current situation: James Henry overhearing private comments made by him, those comments being repeated to Louisa and one of his colleagues, the mistrust, the hurt feelings, his lack of tact, the locked doors, the banishment. Dr. Samuels listens, nodding occasionally while taking notes.

Once he finishes, there is silence in the room for several long moments. "How do you feel I can help you with this situation, Martin? What are you hoping to gain from this visit?"

The Doc sighs, annoyed with his discomfort in this environment. "I thought I had worked through my issues, dealt with my problems, but this situation just proves I haven't," he says. "I don't know what to do to repair my relationship with my wife and my son. I don't even know how to apologize to my colleague and her husband. I know it's expected of me but part of my mind wonders why I have to when I was speaking the truth."

Dr. Samuels leans back in his chair. "You say you were speaking the truth, Martin, but was it really? Isn't it fair to say it's the truth from your perspective. It would appear not everyone feels this man is an idiot."

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," the Doc mutters.

"Your colleague obviously doesn't think so or she most likely wouldn't have pursued a relationship and married him. And his superiors obviously don't think he is if he still has his job. Obviously, no one from the community has complained about him to officials either, including yourself."

The Doc is silent, considering this.

Dr. Samuels sits forward again, gazing seriously at his patient across the desk. "This is going to take more than a two hour session. It's going to take hard work and dedication, weekly, hour-long sessions. Do you think you can commit to that Martin?"

The Doc is silent for a moment, considering the offer. "Yes."

"Good. Let's get to work then."

* * *

Stirling is late for work – very late for work.

The police escort, complete with siren and lights, makes up a bit of time but not much. It also attracts even more attention to her lateness. She leans across to give Joe a kiss before jumping out of the Land Rover.

"Thanks for the ride, Lover Boy," she says opening her door.

"It's the least I could do after making you late. I'll see you tonight."

She slams the door and watches him reverse down the hill. Her eyes are pulled toward the Doc and Louisa's house, where she notices the Lexus is still parked outside. She frowns to herself as she grips her doctor's bag and walks through the front door, bracing herself to face the wrath of Morwenna.

"I'm sorry I'm late," she announces to everyone in the waiting room as she walks in. She's met by the noise of annoyed grumbling and a silent scowl from Morwenna. She grabs her first pile of patient files. "Come on back Mrs. Laskey," Stirling says, removing her long wool overcoat as she hurries toward the consulting room.

It's a busy morning as she works hard to make up the time. She's feeling exhausted as her last patient of the morning walks out the door at half noon. She leans back in her chair with a sigh, closing her eyes and lifting her feet up onto her desk.

"I'm off to have lunch with Al at The Crab," Morwenna says, pulling on her coat. "Do you want anything?"

"No, I'm fine," she says, humming softly under her breath as she clasps her hands over her belly. "Just lock the front door behind you please."

She hears the door close and the lock click into place. She sighs. Silence. The phone is forwarding to the answering machine. She relaxes, hoping she might be able to catch up on some sleep. But her mind keeps coming back to the Doc's car sitting in the lane beside his house. _He didn't go to work today_, she thinks. _The Chief never misses work, ever._

She feels a wave of guilt wash over her again as she plays over in her mind his early morning visit and their exchange of words. _Damn, I shouldn't have lost my temper._

She's replaying the argument in her head, looking for different ways she could have handled it better, when the back door of the surgery opens. "Hello?" she hears a familiar voice call.

Stirling smiles. "I'm in the consulting room, Joe," she calls back.

He laughs as he walks in and finds her lounging in her chair, feet up on the desk, eyes closed. "I see you're working hard."

"It's the noon refreshment break," she says, her eyes still closed. "I'm trying to relax."

"Have you had lunch already?"

She opens her eyes and glances at him, a look of guilt on her face. "No, I haven't."

"You didn't have breakfast either, did you?"

"No," she says quietly, blushing. "I was rushed, distracted, I forgot. You were there; a lot was going on this morning."

Joe looks at her, his face an open reflection of every emotion running through his mind – anger, disappointment, concern, fear, and affection. "Good thing I brought you some sarnis I made," he says with a smile, holding up a paper bag.

Stirling laughs as she drops her feet from the desk and sits up in her chair. "Am I that predictable?" she asks, clearing a spot to eat.

Joe pulls a chair up across from her, sits down and opens the bag. "I'm afraid so," he says, lifting out several wrapped sandwiches. "You have a choice. There's roast beef and ham. Actually, we can have one of each if you like."

Once the sarnis are divided, they sit in companionable silence, eating. As soon as she takes her first bite, Stirling is surprised by how hungry she actually is, closing her eyes and enjoying the mix of tastes in her mouth. "How was your morning?" she asks, licking some mustard from her thumb.

"Pretty slow," Joe admits, pausing between bites. "I finished up the paperwork for this morning's accident and then had a call out to a cottage near Port Quin. Someone had smashed a back window but there was nothing missing. I take it your morning was busy?" he asks.

"Completely barmy," she says. "But I caught up." She takes another bite of her sandwich and thinks as she chews. "The Chief didn't go to work today," she says.

Joe looks up from his sarni and gives her a curious look. "His car is not at the house."

"Are you sure? It was this morning."

"When I walked by just now, it was gone."

_Hmmm_, Stirling thinks, taking another bite. _Maybe he just took the morning off_. She decides to stop by and check on Louisa on her way home later that afternoon.

She finishes her roast beef sandwich and looks at the ham, her stomach feeling bloated. "I think I'm going to save this for later," she says, picking it up and taking it into the kitchen to put in the refrigerator. After she washes her hands at the kitchen sink, she glances at her watch – 15 minutes past one.

She walks into the piano room and removes the dust cover from the Steinway. She missed playing while she was away. She lifts the keyboard cover and starts slowly with a few easy scales, moving on to more complicated finger exercises. She notices movement out of the corner of her eye and looks over to see Joe, enjoying his second sandwich as he leans against the entryway into the piano room, watching her practice. She smiles and beckons him over to sit with her on the piano bench. He puts his sandwich down on the kitchen table and washes his hands before walking over and sitting next to her.

Stirling gives Joe a quick kiss on the cheek. "What do you feel like hearing?" she asks, aimlessly pressing the keys in little rounds, flexing her thumbs out as far as she can as she tries different chords.

"My choice?" he asks, surprised. She nods. "Something by Adele," he says.

"Adele?" she asks surprised. "I didn't know you liked her music."

He smiles. "I do and I've always wanted to hear you sing one of her songs."

"Anything in particular?"

"You choose."

Stirling looks down at the keyboard for a moment and begins to play the opening to a song that makes Joe smile. "When the rain is blowing in your face, and the whole world is on your case, I could offer you a warm embrace, to make you feel my love," she sings, her eyes closed.

He leans his elbow against the edge of the piano watching her play, mesmerized by her voice and the dexterity of her fingers, fingers they all feared would never play an instrument again. He loves watching her make music and hearing her sing, something he doesn't have the opportunity to experience very often since she moved into the police station with him, leaving the Steinway behind. Sometimes she takes out her acoustic guitar and plays but not as often as he would like.

As she finishes the final chord and opens her eyes, he applauds softly, leaning over and kissing her gently on the lips. "Play me another," he whispers, making her smile.

"Another Adele?"

He nods.

She plays and sings _Someone Like You_ before moving straight into _Even the Nights Are Better_ by Air Supply._ After Jar of Hearts_ by Christina Perri, she decides to lighten it up a bit with _It Must Be Love_ by Madness, convincing Joe to sing along with her.

Morwenna pauses at the front door, her key in the lock, as she listens to the singing coming from the piano room. She smiles as she quietly opens the door, closing it softly behind her. She stands in the front foyer grinning like a fool as she listens to the pair of them in perfect harmony.

"I've got to be near you, every night, every day. I couldn't be happy, any other way. It must be love, love, love. It must be love, love, love. Nothing more, nothing less, love is the best."

Morwenna sits down at her desk and bops her head along to the music as she organizes the afternoon patient files. She smiles as Stirling and Joe laugh at the end of the song, obviously enjoying themselves. When the opening riff of _Only the Good Die Young_ by Billy Joel begins, she knows she has to watch them together. She tiptoes through the back hall and creeps quietly into the kitchen, peeking around the entryway into the room. She almost laughs out loud as she watches Joe sway along with Stirling, his arm around her shoulders, belting out the song with enthusiasm.

"You got a nice white dress and a party on your confirmation. You got a brand new soul, mmmm, and a cross of gold. But Virginia they didn't give you quite enough information. You didn't count on me. You were counting on your rosary. Oh, oh, ooh."

Morwenna is always amazed watching Stirling play and as she bangs out the jazzy bits of the song, the receptionist's eyes widen in surprise. _Doc Stirling's fantastic, _she thinks, staring as her boss' fingers fly over the keys_. _She quickly checks her watch and realizes it's almost time for the afternoon surgery to start. She creeps back into the waiting room, surprised to see two patients already seated, their feet tapping to the beat of the piano.

"The Doc should be almost done her break," Morwenna explains, sitting back behind her desk, checking off in the appointment book those who have arrived.

Stirling laughs as she plays the last chord of the song, turning to Joe and kissing him on the lips. "You never told me you could sing," she whispers against his cheek before kissing along his jaw line.

"I'm not very good at it," he says, shivering slightly as she lightly touches the back of his neck.

"You're a wonderful singer," she breathes against his neck. "And you know what?"

"What?" he asks, surprised as she turns her body on the piano bench and slides closer to him, wrapping her legs around his torso.

"Men that are confident enough to sing; that really, really turns me on," she whispers, cupping his face and giving him a searing kiss.

He's surprised by her full frontal assault but finds himself giving in to her demanding lips, pulling her body closer to his body, kissing her back. They're both becoming rather enthusiastic when the mantel clock strikes two.

"Damn," Stirling groans, pulling back to glare at the ticking timepiece, checking it against her watch. "I have to go back to work."

Joe is panting slightly as he looks into Stirling's eyes. "Bloody hell! We should sing together more often if this is how you react. You could teach me some duets."

She laughs, playfully kissing him on the nose. "Definitely! I can teach you how to play the guitar too."

"One step at a time," he says with a smile, standing up from the bench. "Thanks for the lunch entertainment. I'll see you later tonight, Cheeky."

He kisses her softly goodbye, grabs his ham sandwich from the table and walks out the back door, whistling _It Must be Love_.

Stirling closes up the Steinway and throws the dust cover back over it before walking through the back hall to the consulting room. "I'm ready for my first patient, Morwenna," she calls, rubbing her fingers against her slightly swollen lips.

Her afternoon proves to be as busy as her morning, her last patient of the day Morwenna. She weighs and measures her, checks her sugar and protein levels and measures her blood pressure before checking the baby's heart rate. She feels around her belly, assessing the baby's position.

"He's still head up, bum down but there's lots of room in there for him to shift. And there's time. You're still about seven to eight weeks out from your due date and everything's progressing on schedule. You're blood pressure is a bit high and I'd like to keep a closer eye on it. I might have you stay late once a week so we can measure it, if that works for you."

She nods her head.

"Do you have any questions or concerns?"

"Al and I have been discussing some things and we've decided we'd like to try to have the baby at home," Morwenna says.

"Okay," Stirling says slowly, thinking her request over. "I'm not seeing any reason why you can't plan for a home birth. But a lot will depend on how your blood pressure progresses and the baby's position closer to your due date. Feel free to plan for it but keep your mind open to the possibility you might need to go to a birthing centre in Bodmin or Wadebridge or even to the hospital in Truro if things don't work out as planned."

"I understand," say Morwenna.

"You might want to contact the local midwife, Molly, for some different home birth ideas. I understand water births can help with relaxing during delivery. Molly has all the latest support aids to test out and try."

Morwenna smiles. "I'll be sure and have her stop by so we can check them out. But I still want you to deliver my baby," she adds.

"Call me, I'll be there," Stirling says with a smile, making a notation in Morwenna's file. "I think that's all for tonight. In a few weeks, we'll be moving to more frequent check-ups, okay?"

After her receptionist has left for the day, Stirling realizes she's going to need to start advertising for a replacement for Morwenna's maternity leave. _I'll work on the ad wording tonight_, she decides, running over in her mind where she can place it. _Obviously I'll post it locally but I might try the Cornish Guardian or the newspapers in Bodmin, Wadebridge and Bude._

She tidies up the surgery in preparation for the next day and grabs her doctor's bag before double checking the front door and exiting out the back, locking up behind her. As she walks down the hill, she notices the Doc's car is parked beside his house again. She decides to leave her visit with Louisa for another day and walks by.

* * *

The Doc keeps a close watch on the timer as he wrestles with the hothouse flowers he purchased in Wadebridge, trying to arrange them in a vase. He's not sure he likes the end result as he gazes at his feeble attempt at flower arranging but he doesn't have time to fix it. Louisa and James Henry are expected soon.

Since his arrival home from Dr. Samuels' office, he's been busy planning his apology. "It has to be something from the heart, a self-sacrifice that Louisa can appreciate," his therapist had suggested.

So the Doc's been busy for most of the afternoon, cleaning and straightening the house while planning and cooking a nutritious and appetizing meal. He decided to buy the flowers on the drive home as an added insurance policy, remembering Dr. Aylesworth's advice.

At the stationary store next door to the flower shoppe, he spent about 40 minutes picking out a suitable blank card, longer than it had taken him to choose the flower bouquet. He then spent another hour in his home office composing the appropriately worded apology to write on the inside of the card. It had taken at least 10 drafts before he felt it was perfect. Now the envelope sits perched against the flower vase just in front of Louisa's usual place at the table.

He feels a small stab of anxiety as he hears the side door open and the sound of Louisa and James Henry's voices. "Yummy, yummy," the little boy shouts as he runs down the hall into the kitchen, his eyes gazing way up at his father, who stands formally by the cooker, hands clasped in front of him.

"Yes, it does smell yummy," says Louisa as she follows him into the room. She stops as she sees the Doc standing there, waiting. She looks around the room, taking in the bubbling pots on the cooker top and the neatly arranged kitchen table, complete with a rather strange-looking flower arrangement. "Martin," she says softly. "You're home early."

"Louisa," he says, clearing his throat nervously. "I need to apologize to you for what happened involving ..." He pauses for a moment, realizing he can't talk about the issue openly in front of his son. "For what happened involving JH yesterday," he says.

Louisa remains silent, watching him with wide eyes while James Henry scampers to his bedroom, singing "Yummy, yummy, yummy," over and over again.

"I was wrong to speak my thoughts so freely in front of James Henry. In my defence, I didn't think he would understand what I was discussing. I was mistaken."

Louisa's eyes open even wider, amazed to hear him admit twice that he was in the wrong.

"I spent today thinking of a way to make it up to you, to apologize for my actions." He pauses for a moment. "I visited Dr. Samuels this afternoon."

She gasps, surprised.

"We've decided that I should continue to see him every other week for the next few months. It's obvious I haven't made as much progress as I thought and there are still have some issues I need to work through."

Louisa feels tears stinging in the corners of her eyes as she listens to her husband say words she thought he would never utter. Her hands tremble as she tries to hold back her emotions.

"I'm hoping you can forgive me," he says quietly. "I don't want to spend another night sleeping alone. Which reminds me, we really need to buy a more comfortable chesterfield. Our current one is very hard, which can be damaging to one's spine."

Louisa moves as swiftly as she can across the kitchen floor and wraps her arms around the Doc, drawing his head down for a kiss. "Yes," she sniffles through her tears. "Of course I forgive you. And I hope you can forgive me for shutting you out the way I did. It wasn't fair of me."

They hold each other close for several long moments, only pulling away from one another when the timer dings. "The fish is ready," the Doc says as he stares into his wife's eyes, lost in their depths.

"Oh," Louisa says suddenly, a hand quickly rubbing against her very pregnant belly.

"What?" the Doc asks, slightly alarmed.

She gently takes his hand and places it along her left side where he can feel lots of movement under his fingers. Louisa watches his expression and smiles. "I think our baby is looking forward to the fish as much as I am."

"Then we better get you fed," he says, pulling out her chair and helping her sit before moving toward the cooker to serve dinner.

"The flowers are beautiful," she says, admiring the bright blooms.

"Dr. Aylesworth suggested them," he says, pulling the fish from the oven before moving to drain the potatoes. "There's a card there for you as well."

Louisa sits quietly for a moment before turning in her chair to face her husband. "You do realize that to really make this right, you also need to apologize to Stirling and Joe," she says.

He stops his bustling and turns to face her. "I know," he says solemnly.

* * *

"Good morning," Stirling whispers in Joe's right ear, nibbling on his ear lobe before kissing slowly down his neck and along his collar bone.

She smiles as he laughs in his sleep, his lips curling into a smile as he turns his head. His eyes open a sliver, looking up at the face hovering just above his.

"Good morning," he mumbles, stretching out his arms. He can't move his body. He looks down toward his feet and realizes he can't move because Stirling is straddling his lower torso. "What are you up to?" he asks, his eyes taking in the amazing view of her breasts and well-rounded belly he is being treated to.

"What time is it?" he asks, fumbling around for his watch on the bedside table.

"Six," she whispers before gently biting into his bottom lip.

"Six! You woke me up at six in the morning? Damn!" he grumbles, rubbing his hands down his face.

"Don't be cross," she says softly, licking down the centre line of his chest. "I couldn't sleep."

"I can make you some warm milk if you like," he says, shivering as she kisses back up his chest, her fingers tickling his skin.

She smiles and chuckles softly. "No thank you. I'd rather have something else."

Stirling's lips are back covering his, pressing greedily. Her hands cradle his head, fingers gently fisting his hair.

"Do you ever get enough?," he groans, pulling her body close against his. He tries to roll on top of her but she stops him with a quick shift of her body. "I don't think so, Lover Boy. I have you right where I want you."

They are both squirming against each others' bodies when a shrill noise echoes through the bedroom. At first they ignore it, too wrapped up in what they are doing to notice. But as the annoying ringing continues, Stirling is forced to pull her lips away from Joe's and stretch over to grip her mobile with the tips of her fingers.

"Yes!" she yells out loudly as she answers the call, her body thrilling under the touch of Joe's hands and fingers.

She tries to control her breathing as she listens to the person on the other end of the call. "How high is his temperature?" she asks. Joe smiles up at her as he slowly pulls her body lower so he can kiss and suck on her neck. She gasps loudly, gulping for air.

"No, no, everything's fine Mrs. Cleary," she stutters. "I was just startled by something."

She takes a deep breath, trying to clear her head despite Joe's teasing lips. "I suggest you put him in a lukewarm bath for about 30 to 40 minutes, see if you can lower his temperature that way. If not, bring him into the surgery first thing. Morwenna or I should be there between eight and eight-thirty. Okay?"

Stirling disconnects the call, dropping the mobile on the bed beside her before lowering her mouth to Joe's neck, seizing his skin between her teeth.

"Aahh! You bit me!" he yells, surprised by her aggression.

"You're an evil man," she says, gently kissing the sore spot on his neck before moving her lips back to his.

He grabs her and rolls on top of her. "Now I have you right where I want you, Cheeky."

Within minutes, he has her mind overloaded with the various sensations her body is experiencing. "Oh god, Joe, do that again," she sighs breathlessly, her hands gripping his back.

"You like that, do you?" he teases, his body shifting against her, making her cry out again.

"Oh god!" she groans. "Oh!"

And that's when the knocking starts on the front door.

Joe is instantly distracted, ceasing all movement.

"No! Don't stop!" Stirling cries out, her fingers scrabbling against his back, trying to pull him closer.

There's another flurry of knocking, soon building to pounding.

"Bloody hell!" Joe says, rolling off Stirling and sitting on the side of the bed. He reaches for his boxers and slips them on.

"No!" she says shrilly, rolling onto her side to face him. "You can't leave me now! Don't go!"

"Can't you hear that?" he asks her as he pulls on his shirt and strides to the door, opening it forcefully.

She stills just as another flurry of loud pounding is heard downstairs. "Damn!" she says, rolling onto her back and covering her face with her hands. "It's the Chief!"

Joe is already out the bedroom door and marching down the hall, missing her announcement. He pounds down the stairs, feeling extremely annoyed. "This better be a bloody emergency or I'm going to ..."

He falls silent as he yanks open the door and comes face-to-face with the Doc. They both stare silently at one another for several seconds, surprised.

As usual, the Doc is impeccably dressed, this time in a dark blue suit with a lighter blue silk tie, his hair neatly combed and his shave close and thorough.

As the Doc examines Joe's flushed appearance, his dishevelled hair and heavy breathing, he wonders if he might have interrupted something. The fresh looking love bite on the sergeant's lower neck provides him with the final proof.

"Good morning, Joe," he says formally. "My apologies for dropping by so early in the morning. I was hoping to speak with Dr. Aylesworth if I could."

He waits patiently as the half-dressed police sergeant stares at him, his eyes wide with disbelief. _He just called me Joe. He never calls me Joe. It's always Penhale._

He slowly backs up, opening the door wider for the Doc to come in. As the older man passes him, Joe wonders if he might have fallen and struck his head or had a stroke overnight. "Stirling," he calls up the stairs, never taking his eyes off the Doc. "There's someone here to see you."

She lies in the bed, her hands still covering her face, wishing he would just go away. _Two mornings in a row?_ she wonders. With a deep sigh, she sits upright and rolls out of bed, reaching for her dressing gown and pulling it on. "I'm coming," she calls as she walks out the bedroom door, ducking quickly into the loo to run a brush through her mussed hair. She glances in the mirror and flinches. _I look like I've been playing blanket monster_, she thinks, examining the whisker burn marks along the side of her jaw. She shrugs. _Show up at 6:30 in the morning, this is what you get_.

She walks down the stairs and is surprised to find the Doc calmly sitting at the kitchen table with Joe puttering about in his boxers making coffee. "Good morning, Chief," she says, walking into the kitchen and leaning against the counter. "We need to stop meeting this way."

"I'm sorry for disturbing you this early in the morning but I needed to talk with both you and Joe before I left for Truro." He clears his throat as he's handed a cup of coffee, which he sips before continuing. "I'd like to apologize for what happened the other day."

Stirling is quiet, her eyes wide with disbelief. _Did he just use Joe's actual given name? Followed by a sentence starting with 'I'd like to apologize?'"_

"You were correct, Dr. Aylesworth. What I said did show a lack of respect for both you and Joe and it was hurtful. It also showed a lack of tact on my part to repeat it within hearing of James Henry. I would like to apologize for any hurt and upset I have caused you through my comments."

The kitchen is completely still and quiet as both Stirling and Joe stare at him for several moments before turning to look at each other in shocked surprise. She turns to look back at the Doc.

"Thank you, Chief," she says, her mind reeling. _It's way too early for me to be dealing with this_, she thinks. _I must be dreaming_.

As he swallows another sip of coffee, the Doc struggles hard not to shudder as the full kick of Joe's incredibly strong brew hits him. He sets his cup down with a rattle, pushing back from the table. "I should be on my way," he announces, standing up.

Stirling is uncertain what to do. The Doc has just done the unthinkable – apologized for his actions and treated Joe with respect. "Thank you" just doesn't seem enough. She pushes away from the counter and approaches him slowly, still undecided. She looks up at him and smiles, throwing her arms around him in a big hug.

"Thank you, Chief," she says again, squeezing him tightly. He stands rigid, uncomfortable with her display of affection. He looks across the room at Joe, who shrugs, as baffled by her behaviour as the Doc. She loosens her grip, stepping back and standing on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on his right cheek. "I forgive you," she says quietly.

He looks down at Stirling, her eyes shiny with tears. He clears his throat awkwardly. "Well, I'm on my way." He turns abruptly and strides purposefully out the door.

For a long time, no one moves or says anything. Eventually, Stirling turns and looks at Joe. "He said he was sorry and called you by your actual name," she says, her voice filled with awe.

"He did."

She walks over to Joe and wraps her arms around him. He holds her gently against him, rubbing his hand up and down her back as she sobs against his chest. And he wonders if he will ever understand what can push her to tears.


	38. Chapter 38

Over the next weeks, life in Portwenn settles into some semblance of a routine for Stirling and Joe as they become accustomed to balancing married life with their respective jobs.

After a brief advertising campaign in the area, she manages to find a receptionist to cover for Morwenna during her maternity leave, a young woman in her 20s from a farm out near Bude. Alexandria – or Alex as she prefers to be called – doesn't have a lot of experience as a receptionist but she makes up for it with intelligence and enthusiasm. In early March, the pony-tailed blonde spent a week job shadowing Morwenna. The next week, she started full-time, settling easily into the job and managing the patients.

Stirling is kept busy seeing patients at the surgery. Most days she finds herself looking forward to the end of the day, walking in the gathering dusk through Portwenn on her way to the police station. Sometimes Joe is waiting outside to walk with her or meets her en route. Other times, he's at home preparing dinner while he locks up the station for the evening. She loves the feeling that washes over her as she comes out of the darkness into their brightly lit home, the smell of yummy cooking wafting in the air, a pair of strong arms wrapping around her and responsive lips pressing hard against hers.

Some evenings they forget all about dinner. Or feed one another while cuddling on the chesterfield in the lounge. Or enjoy their meal while sitting side-by-side in bed. "I hope this never ends," Stirling whispers one evening as she lies with her head tucked into Joe's neck, her right hand gently rubbing his chest.

"What never ends?"

"This," she says, pointing back and forth between them. "The honeymoon period. I hope we can be this way always."

She shifts in his arms and kisses his nose before cuddling back against him.

"You do realize that when this sprog arrives, our lives will change," he says softly, rubbing his hand over her belly. During the past few weeks, she has expanded even further outward, her stomach beginning to resemble an over-inflated beach ball.

She sighs. "I know. But I hope we still continue to do things like this from time-to-time – eat dinner in bed, cuddle together while we watch football in the lounge, go for long walks along the cliff paths, visit our beach, slow dance, hold hands while we walk home together – romantic things."

Joe tightens his arms around her and kisses the top of her head. _She smells like strawberries_, he realizes, enjoying the scent.

"I have an idea," he says. "From this day forward, I think we should plan to do at least two romantic things together every week."

Stirling pulls back from his shoulder to look him in the eyes. "Do you mean that?"

"Yes."

She looks at him uncertainly. "That means more than shagging, right?"

He laughs. "I think that might depend on what type of shagging we're talking about. Candles, bubble bath and blindfolds can be romantic."

She giggles at the thought of Joe putting a blindfold on her. "You're so vanilla!" He gives her a puzzled smile. "What does that mean?" he asks.

Stirling stops laughing. "You know, vanilla."

"Nooo, I don't know. You think I'm like ice cream?"

She's silent for a moment, trying to think of a way to explain the slang term. "Vanilla can be used to describe a type of sex. It's the opposite of kinky."

He shifts his head and stares at her. "Kinky? You want it to be more kinky?"

"No!" she says, her eyes widening in alarm. "It's fine the way it is."

Joe flinches and gives her a hurt look, opening his mouth to say something. She quickly cuts him off. "I didn't mean fine, I meant fine-fine! I mean great! Fantastic! Terrific! Brilliant! Aces!" She takes a deep breath. "I have an idea. Let's just drop this subject and move on to something else." She pauses for a moment, her mind scrambling for a new conversation topic, anything. "Michael has come up with a solution to our transportation problem," she blurts out.

Joe closes his mouth and looks interested. "He has?"

Stirling gives a quiet sigh of relief. _Disaster averted_.

Suddenly, he looks puzzled again. "What transportation problem?"

"Remember, last week? You mentioned again how you felt about me driving the Triumph while pregnant?"

"And you told me again you weren't having any problems handling the bike and I should stop hassling you about it," he adds.

"Well, I've been giving it some thought and, you may be right."

Joe's eyes widen in surprise. "I'm sorry, what did you just say?"

She smiles. "I've been giving it some thought and you may be right."

"Pardon? I don't think I heard you clearly. Can you repeat that?"

"Stop it," she says laughing, giving him a playful push on the shoulder. "You may be right."

He leans his head back against the pillow, cupping his hands behind his head with a cocky expression on his face. "I may be right, eh?"

"Stop gloating! Or I won't tell you about Michael's idea."

Joe reaches out and pulls her against him, kissing her forehead and smelling her hair again. "Alright, alright, I'm listening."

Stirling awkwardly sits up in the bed, shifting her body until she eventually manages to get comfortable. "Michael called today during my lunch break to inform me he's fairly certain he and Christie have found the perfect upright piano for the lounge. He wanted to double check the space dimensions with me, which I remembered from when we measured just before the wedding. So, the piano's going to fit. He's now going to arrange a way to have it shipped down here and moved in properly."

"Well, that's good news," Joe says. "But what does that have to do with a vehicle?"

"I'm getting to that. Before he rang, I was thinking about what we'd talked about, trying to imagine what kind of auto I'd want to drive. Most that I liked were impractical – a Morgan, Bentley, Rolls Royce, Aston Martin ..."

As she lists off the car brands, Joe's eyes grow larger. "We can't afford those cars!"

"I know! That's why I said they were impractical. Anyway, I was thinking about vehicles when Michael called and I mentioned in passing that I was probably going to be in the market for a car in the near future. And he said he might have something I'd be interested in. It's on his family's country estate in Norfolk. It's only been used sparingly and is usually kept in storage in one of the back garages. He'd be willing to sell it to us fairly reasonably."

"It's a used vehicle?"

"Yes, but it's been barely used. The mileage is really low, considering it's age."

He gives her a suspicious look. "How old is it?"

She puts on her most winning smile. "It's just a little, tiny bit older than me."

"Older than you? That's not a practical, serviceable car; that's an antique!"

"Thank you so much!" she snarls, suddenly very annoyed. "How nice to know you consider me to be as old as an antique!"

"I wasn't describing you! I was talking about the car!"

Stirling folds her arms across her chest and glares at him.

"Exactly how old is the car, Cheeky?" he asks patiently.

"It's a 1968 model."

"1968! It's closer in age to me!"

"And it has less than 25,000 miles on it! It's a classic! He emailed me some snaps and it's in amazing condition, very well cared for, serviced regularly. And I like it!"

Joe leans back against his pillow, closes his eyes and sighs. "What kind of car is it?"

"A Citroen DS 21," she says, feeling a flare of hope in her chest.

He opens his eyes and looks at her sharply. "What did you say?"

She gives him a puzzled look. "It's a Citroen DS 21."

"A Citroen?"

"Yes," she says, the tone of his voice making the flare of hope plummet into the pit of her stomach.

"That's a French car, isn't it?"

"Yes. What does that matter?"

Joe jumps out of bed and begins to pace. It's the most agitated Stirling has ever seen him. She watches him walk back and forth several times.

"I'm not comfortable with this," he finally says, stopping to look at her. "I don't want you driving a French car, especially with the baby."

She looks at him open-mouthed and slightly shocked. "Why not?"

He starts pacing again, scrambling for an answer. "French cars aren't safe," he finally says, making a wide arm gesture toward her. "They're not built to our standards. I'll be worrying about you and the baby all the time if your drive that, that – thing."

"You're joking, right? It was designed by an artist and an aeronautical engineer, using some of the most advanced technologies of the time. It has front power disc brakes, front wheel drive, power steering, a semi-automatic transmission, plus an independent suspension that is also hydropneumatic. The car can self level and handle variable ground clearance, which is perfect for the roads and lanes around here. It's a bloody work of art!"

"No," Joe insists, shaking his head. "Wouldn't you rather have a Jaguar? Or a new British-made car?"

Stirling had originally considered a Jaguar, keeping it on her mental short list of possible vehicles. But now that Joe is showing such resistance to the Citroen – and for no logical reason that she can fathom – she is fully committed to the DS. _I am not budging_, she thinks stubbornly.

"No," she says adamantly. "I don't want a new car or a Jaguar. I want the Citroen! There is nothing wrong with the vehicle."

"You're not listening to me!" he says, folding his arms across his chest. "I'm concerned. Who knows what kind of substandard parts the French use on their cars. It's not safe and you and the baby shouldn't be driving around in a death trap."

Stirling is beginning to feel peeved. "Death trap? Do you really have so little faith in me? Do you really think I would choose an unsafe vehicle to transport our baby in; that I didn't research it? I actually feel a bit hurt and offended."

By this point, she is also standing up, arms folded across her chest, but on the other side of the bed. They glare across the expanse at each other.

"You're being unreasonable," he finally says, running his hand through his hair in frustration. "Maybe we should talk about this later when you're not quite so emotional."

"Emotional!" she shouts. "I'm trying to have a logical discussion about a car and you keep going on about it being French, as if that's something bad."

"It is bad!" he shouts back.

"Why?"

He's silent for a moment. "Because it's French," he shouts. "And it's come from France."

She throws her hands up in frustration. "This is ridiculous. It's like arguing with a 10-year-old!"

"Are you suggesting I'm acting like a 10-year-old?"

"About this particular subject? Yes!"

Joe is hurt and angry. "Well, you're acting like an overly emotional, hormonal spoiled princess! Who's – who's – who's really fat!"

Stirling gasps, a stinging sensation building behind her eyes. _He thinks I'm fat!_ she sobs mentally, fighting to keep the tears from falling She takes a deep, steadying breath. _No way am I going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me become EMOTIONAL in front of him_. Without a word, she marches past him and out the bedroom door.

Joe stands there for a moment, uncertain what to do. As soon as the word "fat" left his mouth, he knew he'd gone too far. _The stupid thing is, I didn't even mean it_, he thinks, turning to follow her. "Stirling!" he calls.

She's already in the front vestibule, pulling on a pair of paddock boots when he starts down the stairs. "Stirling!" he calls again.

She grabs her jacket and stomps out the door, closing it with a self-satisfying slam behind her, right in his face. He wrestles the door open and runs out after her in his sock feet. It's raining.

"Wait!" he yells, running after her as she marches up the hill toward the village. She spins around, forcing him to come to a sliding stop. "You stay away from me, Joseph Penhale!" she says, jabbing a finger in his direction. "I'm so angry right now I could – I could – I could kick you in the bollocks!"

He steps back, keeping a close eye on her boots, not wanting to upset her any further. "Where are you going?" he asks quietly.

"Out!" she barks. "Please don't follow me. Just leave me alone."

She turns to walk away. "When will you be back?" Joe calls after her.

"Later," she says, continuing her quick march.

He feels a surge of relief. At least s_he'll be coming back._

* * *

It's just after 11 at night when Stirling walks back into the house. Her feet are stinging, her lower back is aching plus she's soaked through and cold from the rain. She's daydreaming about a nice warm shower as she hangs her dripping coat on a peg inside the door and kicks off her mud-spattered boots.

She feels like she's just completed the grand tour of Portwenn. After chugging a glass of Coke at The Crab – her first in months – she played the Steinway for about an hour at the surgery. After, she sat in the darkness at the harbour and listened to the rain fall and tide come in before wandering aimlessly up and down the streets of the village. And she thought – about Joe and the Citroen, about the baby, about all the other babies soon expected, about the Doc and Louisa, about the surgery, about Michael and Christopher and Leyland, and about London.

She's decided she wants to go back to the city – not permanently but for a visit, to see London again, feel the busy rush of traffic and people, see a play in the West End, have one last moment of freedom with Joe before the baby arrives.

She has no idea what to do about the Citroen.

As she steps into the dark kitchen, she can see light coming from the lounge and hear the murmur of voices. She stands in the doorway and glances at the telly, broadcasting a news program. Joe lies sprawled on the chesterfield, still in his uniform, sound asleep. She feels a smile tickle at the corners of her mouth as she watches him but fights it back. He looks so innocent lying there, snoring lightly. _But I'm still angry_, she growls mentally. Even so, she pulls a folded fuzzy blanket from the back of the chesterfield, shakes it out and covers him with it. _It's kind of chilly down here_, she thinks, tucking the blanket around him. She quietly turns off the telly and the lamp before slowly walking upstairs to the loo.

After stripping off her soaked clothes and having a nice, hot shower, Stirling pads into the bedroom, towel drying her hair. And with a tired sigh, she crawls under the duvet, closes her eyes, and gently drifts off to sleep.

At first, all she can hear is her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Next, it's panting breaths coming in and out of her open mouth. Then she can hear and feel more pounding, the staccato beat of horse hooves in her ears, jarring up her spine, punctuated with the odd snort. Ahead is a shade-dappled hard dirt trail, twisting and turning through a hardwood forest. How she knows this, she's not sure until she passes a trail marker and realizes where she is. She's on the cross country course adjacent to the Wycombe Abbey stable, specifically on the approach to jump number 12, a Normandy bank with a steep drop off on the far side. She doesn't have to look down to know she's riding Hannibal. She can tell by the feel of his body between her thighs, the pull of the reins and feel of his mouth in her hands and fingers. The coal black horse hated the Normandy bank.

She feels some apprehension as they approach the multilevel obstacle, comprised of a jump up to an elevated bank and then over two wooden logs set on top of one another. The drop off after the log jump is the complicated component of the combination. The horse can't see the difference in elevation until it's half way over the jump. Hannibal hates surprises.

She gathers her reins for the first jump onto the bank and then steadies him with a hand to the neck as he prepares to launch them over the log jump. Suddenly, a strident ringing noise cuts through the silence of the woods. Hannibal startles, scared by the loud noise, twisting his body hard to the left, banging Stirling's leg hard against the log jump. She loses the reins and a stirrup, her balance thrown off. She feels herself falling, pitching sideways over the log jump and plummeting two metres to the ditch below. Before she hits the ground, she sits up in bed, gasping with fear and covered in sweat, looking wildly around the dark room.

The ringing persists as the dream slowly fades – a subconscious replaying of the first time she suffered a concussion. _I cracked my riding helmet that day_, she recalls. The ringing sound blares again. Stirling lunges for her bedside table, grabbing her mobile and answering the call.

"Hello?" she croaks, her throat somewhat dry.

"Doc? It's Al. I think it's time."

_Who the hell is Al?_ Then it all clicks into place. She sits on the side of the bed, glancing at the alarm clock – 15 minutes after three. "How's she doing?"

"The pains started yesterday morning, about every eight to 10 minutes, nothing consistent," he says, his voice sounding strained and weary. "It all started speeding up about three hours ago. You said to call when her water broke and it did about five minutes ago. The contractions are coming every three or four minutes now."

"Can she talk through them?" she asks, digging in her bureau for clean knickers and a bra.

"Not really. She just moans and groans a lot. I really think you need to get over here."

"Help her with her breathing through the contractions," Stirling says, her mobile tucked between her face and her shoulder as she fights to balance on one leg, trying to put on her knickers. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

With her underthings on, she puts on the most comfortable clothing she has, knowing this might take some time. In the loo she brushes her teeth and scrubs her face before combing out her hair and pulling it back in a pony tail.

Downstairs, she grabs a few bottles of water from the refrigerator and a package of HobNobs from the cupboard. She chews on a biscuit as she pulls on her boots and heavy leather jacket before grabbing her doctor's bag – well stocked for the expected births. She's out the door and starting the Triumph in minutes, completely forgetting about Joe in the rush.


	39. Chapter 39

It takes Stirling about five minutes to ride to Al and Morwenna's place, located on a quiet lane near the outskirts of the village. The rain has stopped, although the roads are still slick with puddles and the wind has picked up. She parks the Triumph in a small lane beside the house, quickly unclipping her bag. Al opens the door before she even has a chance to knock.

"She's in the lounge," he says, grabbing her doctor's bag from her hand and pulling her inside. She quickly takes off her jacket and helmet, leaving them on a bench beside the door.

Stirling hears her before she sees her, panting through a contraction, moaning as she reaches the apex of the pain. "Hiya Morwenna," she says calmly as she walks into the room. "Al informs me the baby's decided today is the day."

Morwenna looks up from where she's hunched on all fours on the floor, several thick towels situated under her. She's wearing a long nightgown, her face drenched in sweat, her hair mussed and damp. Stirling can see a flash of fear in her eyes.

"Good morning, Doc," she pants. "Sorry to get you out of bed so early."

"That's okay," she says, setting down her bag and zipping it open. "I wasn't sleeping very well anyway."

"I hate to tell you this but it gets worse," Morwenna groans, lowering her head and panting through another contraction.

Stirling watches her work through the pain as she slips on a pair of latex gloves. She turns to Al, who stands in the lounge doorway, looking scared and uncertain. "What are you standing there for?" she says sharply. "Help her, encourage her! Make yourself bloody useful."

Al scrambles toward Morwenna, kneels down beside her, and starts rubbing her back and murmuring in her ear. "Perfect," Stirling says, grabbing a thick sterile pad from her bag and spreading it out on the chesterfield. She places a dab of lubricating jelly on the fingers of her gloves and rubs her digits together.

"Once this contraction is over, I want you to help Morwenna to her feet and shift her over here," she explains to Al, pointing at the chesterfield. "Try to get her to lie on her back with her bum on this pad. I need to assess her cervix."

About a minute later, they have Morwenna on the chesterfield, her feet together and her knees wide. "Just keep breathing, in your nose and out your mouth," Stirling says, inserting her fingers to check the dilation of the young woman's cervix. "This might be a bit uncomfortable," she warns as Morwenna flinches.

She nods her head as she removes her fingers. "You're doing really well. You're about seven centimetres dilated, almost fully thinned and effaced, and well into active labour." She pulls off her gloves and helps Al get Morwenna to her feet. "What I'm going to suggest is you walk. Al will help you. Pick a route and walk around the house. Gravity is going to help bring this baby down further and move things along quicker. When you feel a contraction coming, stop and lean on Al. He's going to talk you through the pain and encourage you." Al looks up at her and nods.

"Walk as long as you can. But once the pain get's to be too much, let me know. I'll assess you again and see how you've progressed. Do you want to have the baby down here or upstairs in your bed?"

"Upstairs," Morwenna pants, leaning against Al as a contraction starts.

Stirling counts slowly in her head as Al encourages his girlfriend through the pain, rubbing his hands up and down her lower back. At the apex of the contraction, Morwenna moans, leaning more of her weight against his upper body.

"Okay, we're looking at 56 second contractions coming every four minutes," Stirling says, noting the time. She turns to Al. "Is the bed ready?"

He gives her a puzzled look. "Ready for what?"

She feels a flare of annoyance. "For Morwenna to deliver the baby in!"

"Ready how?"

She gives a snort of impatience. "I'll deal with it. You just walk her around and support her. And continue to coach her through the contractions. Don't forget to encourage her."

Stirling zips her doctor's bag closed and carries it with her up the stairs. She easily finds the couple's bedroom and starts stripping the bed, pulling a thin folded plastic drop sheet from her doctor's bag and draping it over the mattress. She then proceeds to place a cotton flat sheet over the plastic. She pauses as she hears Morwenna groan from downstairs, glancing at her watch and comparing the time with her own mental counting. _Three minutes. This delivery might not take as long as I thought._

* * *

Joe awakes with a snort and a start, sitting upright on the chesterfield. The first thing he notices is the sharp pain in his neck and back from sleeping on the hard surface and in such an uncomfortable position. The second thing he realizes is the telly is turned off.

_Stirling must be home_, he thinks, rising from the chesterfield and giving a big stretch, trying to pop his stiff joints back into place. Pale light is coming through the windows as he walks into the kitchen, glancing at his watch. It's half six in the morning. He fills the kettle and puts it on the cooker top to boil before striding quickly upstairs to the bedroom.

He's surprised to find the bed and bedroom empty, no sign of Stirling anywhere. He ducks quickly into the loo but it's empty as well. "Stirling?" he calls, after glancing in the guest bedroom plus the spare room, currently empty in preparation of being converted into a nursery – both empty. He pounds down the stairs into the kitchen, peeking into the laundry room and the back garden. No Stirling. He's beginning to feel slightly alarmed.

It's then he notices her doctor's bag is missing from the peg by the front door as is her leather jacket and helmet. A quick glance out the front door confirms the Triumph is gone. _Was she called out last night?_ he wonders. He doesn't recall hearing the phone but he was asleep in the lounge most of the night. He'd meant to wait up for her to return but obviously nodded off before she arrived home.

Desperate, he checks the surgery answering service but there are no messages.

_Where the hell is she?_ He's feeling somewhat anxious considering she usually leaves a note on the kitchen table for him if she's been called out to a medical emergency. He can't find a note anywhere.

Joe makes himself a tea and leans against the kitchen counter drinking it, trying to decide what he should do. _Maybe she's at the surgery?_ he considers, contemplating driving over to see. As he takes another sip, it suddenly comes to him. _Call her mobile!_ He quickly grabs the home phone and dials her number, swearing under his breath as it immediately goes to voice mail. _She's shut the damn thing off! _he thinks as he leaves her a brief message begging her to contact him.

After he finishes his morning tea, Joe goes back upstairs for a quick shower and changes into a fresh uniform. He's clipping on his tie as he walks down the stairs, stopping in the kitchen to put on his uniform shoes before unlocking the connecting door and walking into the police station.

He immediately checks the answering machine, email and fax for any messages or notices of a road traffic accident involving a motorcycle. Nothing. He checks his watch again – seven o'clock. He decides to drive up to the surgery.

It's a sunny, bright morning in Portwenn, although a few puddles still spot the streets and a brisk wind is now gusting through the village. The harbour is bustling with fisherman preparing to go out to sea as Joe drives by, pulling the Land Rover into one of the parking spots beside the surgery. He immediately goes to the back door but finds it dead bolted. He runs back around to the front but it is also firmly locked. He knocks loudly but no one comes to the door. He tries again. "Stirling?" he calls. He pounds on the door this time. Still nothing.

Joe backs up onto the street to look up at the windows, searching for movement. "Stirling?" he tries to yell softly, looking over his shoulder to see if he's attracting any attention from the harbour. "Stirling?" He bends over and picks up a small pebble from the road surface and throws it at the master bedroom window. It pings off the surface of the glass perfectly and he waits. As he watches, he thinks he sees the curtain move. "Stirling?" he calls loudly. He waits what feel like several very long seconds, convinced he saw movement. He picks up a slightly larger pebble and throws it at the window. This time, it punches a hole straight through the glass, causing a star pattern of cracks to appear across the window.

"Oh damn!" he mutters, staring wide-eyed with horror at the damage he's caused. In a panic, he promptly turns and walks quickly up the street, furtively look left and right, hoping no one saw him. He's almost to the next house before he realizes he's going the wrong way. He turns and walks back down toward the Land Rover, concentrating deeply on the road in front of him, afraid to look up and see someone. That's when he almost runs straight into the Doc.

"What on Earth are you doing?"

* * *

He's late for work – very late. But the Doc is hesitant to leave as he watches Louisa move slowly around the kitchen. His eyes follow her back and forth from the cooker top to the table. They stop when she pauses behind James Henry's chair, her fingers gripping the wooden back, knuckles white. She closes her eyes and breathes – in her nose and out her mouth – for about 40 seconds as he times her with his watch. "It's every five minutes now, isn't it?" he asks.

She turns and looks at him, nodding her head as she fills James Henry's glass with milk.

"Maybe you should sit down," he suggests, standing up to offer her his chair.

She shakes her head. "It's better if I stand," she says, putting the milk back in the refrigerator.

The Doc is frustrated. Louisa has been in labour since last night. She'd been up several times in the night, unable to get comfortable enough to sleep. Eventually, he had run her a warm bath and she'd lain in the water for hours, napping on and off, draining and refilling the tub when the water cooled. Over the course of the night, her contractions increased from ever 10 minutes to the current five, each lasting almost one minute. And she's refusing to let him examine her.

"I'm your husband," he begged. "It's not like it's something I haven't already seen."

"That's exactly why I don't want you examining me," she responded stubbornly. "Stirling can do it." And yet she's also refusing to call in Dr. Aylesworth. "It's not time yet," she explains. "You know that."

He's begged her to let him drive her to the hospital, which she also refuses. "I'm not giving birth on a bench in a roadside pub again," she said. "I want to labour at home, where I'm comfortable and relaxed."

So now he's uncomfortable and tense, watching her slowly walk around the kitchen, pausing periodically to breath through a contraction. James Henry sits at the kitchen table, oblivious to it all as he dips his toast soldiers in his soft-boiled egg.

It's taking all the Doc's self control not to just take over the situation, shove Louisa in the Lexus and drive her to Truro. But he remembers the last time, being kicked out of the pub, forced to yell instructions through a thick wooden door, almost missing the birth of his son. He doesn't want to experience that feeling of hopelessness again, not that he's feeling much control over the current situation. _Still, it's better than being completely shut out_, he considers.

"All done," James Henry proudly announces, setting down his tiny spoon. Louisa glances over as she grips the back of the chair across from him. She begins her rhythmic breathing again.

"Okay, let's get you cleaned up and ready for school," the Doc says, helping the little boy down from his chair and leading him into the loo. After a brisk scrub, he helps him get into clean clothes for the day plus pack his small backpack. Together, they walk back into the kitchen where Louisa is slowly cleaning off the table and placing the dirty dishes in the dishwasher.

"I'll take James Henry down to the nursery," the Doc says to Louisa, giving her a gentle kiss on the cheek. She smiles, her eyes tired. "Thank you."

It's as he's helping James Henry put on his anorak that he first hears the yelling from outside. He glances out the window but sees nothing, although he notes Sergeant Penhale's Land Rover is parked beside the surgery. He hears another shout followed by pounding as he helps put on his son's backpack.

"Stirling!" he hears as they walk out the side door. "Stirling!" As the pair walk through the gate, he hears the sound of glass breaking. He strides out to the street and watches as Sergeant Penhale trots up the hill away from the surgery, quickly looking left and right. The Doc frowns as he looks up at the first floor of the surgery, noting the broken window.

_What the devil is Joe up to?_ he wonders. _Has he finally lost his mind?_

He's surprised when the police officer spins around and starts marching back toward them, his eyes staring down at the road, paying little attention to where he's going.

"What on Earth are you doing?" the Doc demands as Joe comes closer, causing the sergeant to stop so suddenly, his feet almost slip out from under him.

"Doc," he says with surprise.

"Penhale," James Henry giggles.

"Sergeant Penhale," the Doc corrects, continuing to stare at the flustered police officer.

"I'm looking for Stirling," Joe blurts out, his face red with embarrassment.

The Doc glances at the broken window again. "I see," he says. "With all the shouting, I thought perhaps you were rehearsing a scene from _A Streetcar Named Desire,_" he adds sarcastically.

Joe gives him a puzzled look, completely baffled. "I thought she was sleeping upstairs in the surgery," he admits. "I can't seem to find her."

The Doc's frown deepens. "When exactly was the last time you saw Dr. Aylesworth?"

"About 12 hours ago," Joe admits with a flinch. "We had an argument last night and she left but she said she was coming back later and I tried to wait up for her but I fell asleep and when I woke up this morning, she wasn't anywhere in the house plus her doctor's bag and the Triumph were gone and she's not answering her mobile because she's turned it off and I thought she might be here but she isn't," he babbles, beginning to panic.

"Her mobile's turned off?" the Doc asks, a note of concern in his voice. _How is Louisa going to be able to contact her when it's time?_

Joe stares at him, hearing the worry in the Doc's voice. "Something bad has happened, hasn't it?" he says, the feeling of panic building.

The two men stare at each other, each lost in their own worries. "Is something wrong with Auntie Stirling?" a scared little voice asks.

"No!" they both say at once, trying to reassure James Henry, his bottom lip starting to tremble. "Dr. Aylesworth is helping a patient in the village somewhere and we just can't reach her, that's all," the Doc says calmly, seizing his little boy's hand. He looks up at Joe. "I need to take James Henry to nursery school. You stay right here until I get back."

Joe watches as the tall, stately doctor escorts the little boy down the hill toward the nursery school. Despite his concern for Stirling and his rising sense of panic, he smiles at the sight, imagining a day when he can do the same.

* * *

Stirling glances at her watch as she quietly counts off the seconds in her head. Fifteen minutes after eight. She really needs to check in with Alex, let her know where she is and that she's going to be late getting to surgery. But Morwenna's labour is progressing quickly now and she's not sure if she'll have the opportunity.

The young woman is lying in her own bed now, resting against a pillow lodged between her head and Al's chest. He sits behind her, back braced against the headboard, legs on either side of her body, ready to coach and help her through the pushing and delivery stage. The contractions are coming hard and frequently now, causing Morwenna to moan loudly as her uterus pushes the baby further down the birth canal. Although she is fully effaced and dilated, Stirling is having her pant through the contractions, letting the uterus do most of the work moving the baby into position. She's hoping this will allow Morwenna to preserve most of her energy for the important part – actually pushing the baby out.

"You're doing fantastic," she encourages softly, lifting the young woman's nightgown to assess the position of the baby. She inserts her fingers gently and smiles as she feels the baby's head within easy reach. "You're really close. It's almost time to push."

She pulls off her gloves and reaches into her doctor's bag, pulling out a mirror, which she sets beside her on the bed. She also fishes out her mobile, whispering a quiet oath as she notices it's been turned off. "Damn," she mutters, turning it back on and pushing the speed dial code for the surgery.

"Just breath through this next contraction," she instructs softly as she listens to the call ring through. "You're going to start pushing on the next one, okay?"

She hears a loud click in her ear. "Portwenn Surgery," Alex says.

"Alex, it's Stirling," she says.

"Doc Stirling," the young receptionist says, which is followed by some loud voices in the background and banging, like the phone's been dropped. "Alex? Are you there? Alex?"

A moment later, the receptionist is back on the line. "Sorry about that Doc. You have two rather impatient men waiting here who are both very anxious to talk to you."

"Tell them they're going to have to wait," she says, watching Morwenna breath through her contraction, Al encouraging her. "I'm about to help Morwenna and Al welcome their new baby into the world."

Alex squeals in excitement. "She's in labour?"

"Yes," says Stirling. "And she's about to start pushing. I just wanted to let you know where I was and that I'm going to be a bit late for surgery. You might want to reschedule some of the less serious cases."

"Will do, Doc," Alex chirps cheerfully. "Good luck."

Stirling disconnects the call with a click, pulls on another pair of gloves and prepares to help Morwenna through her first round of pushing.

* * *

"Where is she?" Joe demands, leaning across the receptionist's desk, getting right in Alex's face.

"You don't need to be rude," she says with a sniff.

He sighs with impatience. "You need to tell me where Stirling is right now before I charge you with obstructing a police officer in the execution of his duty," he says.

"Well, since you asked so nicely," Alex scowls. "She's at Morwenna and Al's place helping deliver a baby."

Joe quickly turns and races out the front door of the surgery, the Doc right behind him. Alex turns to the few people sitting in the waiting room. "I wouldn't want to be them if they rush in while Morwenna's delivering her baby. Doc Stirling's going to knock them both on their arses, literally and figuratively."

It takes Joe less than three minutes to drive to Morwenna's place, siren and lights flashing. He screeches to a halt by the front door, jumping out and pounding on it. "Open up! Police!" he calls. The Doc quietly walks up behind him and watches in amazement as the sergeant backs up, preparing to kick down the door. "Stand back, Doc," he warns, bracing himself for the rush forward. The Doc grabs him by the shoulder. "Let me try," he says calmly, walking up to the door and turning the knob, which opens easily.

"Great work, Doc!" Joe says, rushing through the doorway. "I've never been very good at picking locks."

The Doc follows quietly behind him, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Stirling?" Joe calls, rushing from room to room. "Stirling?" He hears a strange noise from above and rushes to the stairway, taking the steps two at a time. "Stirling?" he calls.

"Joe?" Stirling says, glancing over her shoulder in disbelief as Morwenna bears down again. She swiftly turns her attention back to the young woman, encouraging her to push harder, holding up the mirror so Morwenna can look down and see her baby's head crowning. "The little one's almost here," Stirling says. "Just a few more pushes, sweetie."

And then Joe rushes through the doorway, his shoes sliding on the hardwood floor as he races into the room. "Stirling!" he calls, his eyes instantly focusing on his wife with relief. And then he notices the rest of the activity underway in the room. He freezes in shock.

Stirling spins around on the bed. She may be wearing a doctor's mask covering half her face but Joe can still see her eyes flash in anger. "You!" she says pointing at him with two blood-covered fingers encased in a latex glove. "Get. Out!"

He instantly spins around and scrambles out the doorway, leaning his back against the wall just beside the bedroom door. He looks across at the Doc, who is leaning nonchalantly against the wall across from him, shaking his head.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," Joe says, trying to still his breathing. "I didn't know where you were. You didn't leave me a note."

Stirling frowns behind her mask. _Bollocks! I forgot to leave him a note. He's probably been worried._ "I'm kind of busy right now Joe. Can this wait?"

"Do you require any assistance, Dr. Aylesworth?" the Doc asks calmly.

_The Doc's here too? Who else is going to show up?_ she wonders. "No, we're doing fine."

Morwenna's pushing again, bearing down hard as Al helps her pull her knees toward her chest. "Excellent, just excellent," Stirling praises, tipping the mirror and providing the young woman and Al a clear view of the progress she's making. "Look at all that blonde hair!"

Morwenna laughs excitedly, tipping her head back to give Al a kiss on the cheek. "Almost here," he says excitedly, kissing her on the forehead. "You can do it, love."

"Okay, really hard push with this next one," says Stirling. "Take a deep breath and hold it for a count of 10, pushing all the time. Starting now."

Al props Morwenna up to push, slowly counting as she bears down. She yells with pain as she reaches the end of her breath. "Again!" Stirling urges, helping to ease the baby's head out. "Okay, sweetie, stop," she says, grabbing a hand suction bubble to remove mucus from the baby's nose and mouth. "Just breath through the next contraction. Pant."

Morwenna pants hard, fighting back the urge to push as Stirling gently manipulates the baby to help ease its shoulders through. The baby gives a faint wail, exciting the couple. "Push now," Stirling tells the panting woman, easily delivering the rest of the baby's body. She quickly wraps the little red-faced screamer in a soft blanket, lifting it up onto Morwenna's belly. "Open your arms," she says softly, setting the little bundle against her. "Here's your baby boy."

She sits back on her feet and smiles, watching the young couple marvel over the newest addition to their little family. "A boy," Al says with a grin, his eyes shining as he reaches out to touch a tiny cheek. Morwenna is openly crying as she drops her head down to kiss the little scrunched face. "He's beautiful," she sniffs.

Stirling never ceases to be amazed by a new mother's ability to see beauty in a blood and mucus covered, squalling newborn. Having delivered dozens, she has yet to meet a baby she thought was beautiful just seconds after arrival. In her experience, most have resembled pointy-headed, red-bodied, tiny old men with faces scrunched up with worry and a cry that can shatter glass. _Of course, it's entirely possible I just haven't met the right one yet_, she thinks, pulling down her mask and removing her gloves before covering the lower half of Morwenna's body with a light cotton sheet.

"Do you think you're up for visitors?" she asks gently. "I think there's two men waiting in the hall who might want to come in and see the new arrival. And we have a bit of time until it's time to deliver the rest."

Morwenna looks up and smiles. "Yes," she says.

"You can come in now Joe, Chief," Stirling says, stiffly standing up from the bed, her back screaming in pain from sitting in the same position so long. She sticks her belly out even further, arching her back as she tries to stretch her muscles into place again. She's almost knocked off her feet as Joe wraps his arms around her, pulling her against him. "I've been so worried about you," he whispers in her ear before kissing her cheek. She turns and hugs him back. "I'm sorry I didn't leave you a note. Everything happened so quickly, it slipped my mind."

They pull back from one another, looking into each other's eyes. "I'm sorry about last night," he says. She places her finger against his lips. "Let's talk about it later," she says softly, turning and leading him by the hand toward the bed. "Come meet Portwenn's newest citizen."

Joe looks down at the little scrunched face cradled in Morwenna's arms, uncertain what to say. He's fairly certain this is the youngest baby he's ever seen. Of course, there was that lady in Bude who gave birth in the cab but he never actually saw the baby considering he fainted before it arrived, forcing another constable to deliver it. And there was also the Doc's baby but he never saw James Henry until he was a few hours old. This baby arrived mere minutes ago. And it shows. "Congratulations," he says formally, shaking Al's hand. "He's …."

Joe never gets to finish that thought as the Doc strides into the room gripping his mobile. "If you're almost done here, Louisa needs you," he says to Stirling. "Her contractions are coming every two to three minutes and lasting up to one minute."

_Another one?_ she thinks, her heart sinking as she feels a wave of weariness crash over her. She gives herself a mental shake, looking the Doc in the eye. "I'll be there as soon as I can. I just have a few things to finish up here." She pauses for a moment, thinking. "Give me 30 minutes."

The Doc nods and walks out of the bedroom. "Come on Joe, I need a ride home," he calls as he stomps down the stairs. "Quickly!"

Joe turns to Stirling and gives her a quick kiss on the lips. "Busy day," he says with a smile.

A loud shout of "Joe!" echoes up from downstairs.

"And it's not over yet," she adds with a sigh as he rushes out after the Doc.


	40. Chapter 40

Stirling lies – it takes her 40 minutes to reach the Doc and Louisa's home, as she is forced to make a quick stop at the surgery to replenish her doctor's bag and instruct Alex to start rescheduling all of that day's appointments.

"You're exactly 10 minutes late," the Doc barks as she walks through the side door.

"I needed to stop for some supplies," she explains, hanging her jacket and helmet from one of the empty hooks just inside the door. "Where is she?"

"In the bedroom," the Doc says, leading her down the hall into the kitchen. "Her membranes ruptured about 15 minutes ago and her contractions are becoming longer and more frequent. Of course, we've been waiting for you since she won't let me examine her."

Stirling rolls her eyes and is about to explain for the second time why she was delayed when she pauses in surprise, noticing her husband sitting at the kitchen table sipping a tea and nibbling on biscuits. "Joe? What are you doing here?" she asks.

"I'm having my refreshment break," he says, taking another sip.

"Well, I can see you're having a refreshment break. But why are you doing that here and not at the station?"

"I asked him to stay," the Doc explains. "I thought we might need him."

"For what?"

"As a runner. If we require something from the surgery, he can go and fetch it."

"If I need something from the surgery, you or I can run and fetch it," Stirling says patiently. "I don't think we need to keep the village's police sergeant from doing his job."

"What job?" the Doc says impatiently, immediately regretting his outburst. "What I mean is, I'm sure the village will get by just fine without him for the next few hours. Meanwhile, until this baby arrives safely, you and I are not leaving this house."

Stirling frowns, tempted to continue the argument, but bites back her words, turning instead toward the sound of rapid breathing and a strange crinkling noise. She strides purposefully down the hall, walking into a bedroom that appears to have been made ready for the arrival of a tsunami rather than a baby. Plastic drop sheets cover the floor as well as the bed, which has also been draped in green surgical cloths.

"Are you expecting to perform surgery in the midst of a flood of Biblical proportions?" Stirling asks, looking back at the Doc as she sets her doctor's bag on top of a bureau, which has also been covered in plastic sheeting.

He grunts. "It needed to be sterile," he says, as she turns toward Louisa, who is walking slowly back and forth beside the bed, crinkling the plastic sheeting under her feet.

"How are you doing Louisa?" Stirling asks, walking beside the obviously labouring woman and gently clasping her hand. Before she can answer, Louisa stops and moves her hands to Stirling's shoulders, pressing her forehead into the doctor's chest as a contraction takes over her body. Stirling braces herself, allowing Louisa to offset some weight onto her, as she starts timing the contraction in her head.

"Breath through your nose and out your mouth," the Doc instructs, hovering behind his wife, wanting to touch and encourage her but uncertain if he should. At the apex of the contraction, Louisa lets out a long wail, loud enough to make Joe flinch and pale at the kitchen table, suddenly uninterested in the chocolate-covered digestives. Stirling wraps her arms around the labouring woman and massages her lower back, periodically digging her fingers into the muscles on either side of the spine before rubbing her finger tips back and forth over the area. Louisa lifts her forehead and looks her doctor in the eyes. "Thank you," she whispers. "That feels wonderful."

Stirling smiles and gestures to the Doc. "You stand here," she says, beckoning him over, "and Louisa's going to transfer her hands to your shoulders." They both look at her uncertainly but she quietly encourages them to move, freeing herself from Louisa's steely grip. "Perfect," she says. "Now, that last one was long and strong. I'm expecting there will be another in about 30 seconds. When it starts, lean against the Chief the same as you did with me. Chief, I want you to massage Louisa's lower back just like I did. It will help her relax. I have to wash my hands."

Stirling ducks into the en suite loo just as the next contraction starts. Louisa grips her husband's suit jacket, pushing her sweaty forehead into his white shirt and blue silk tie, panting and grunting her way through the pain. "Don't forget to massage her back," Stirling calls as she scrubs her hands vigorously with soap, prompting the Doc to start rubbing with his hands. The contraction is just starting to ease as Stirling pops back out of the bathroom.

"We have about 60 seconds before the next one," she says, pulling a pair of gloves out of her bag and stretching them carefully over her hands. "Chief, I need you to help Louisa up on the bed. Have her lay down in the centre. Knickers off, dressing gown up."

She rips open a sterile pad and situates it under Louisa's bum and covers the woman's lower half with a thin cotton sheet. "Okay, feet together, knees apart," she orders, partially pushing up the sheet to assess the condition of Louisa's cervix. She smiles as she finishes her quick exam. "You've done most of the hard work without me," Stirling says. "You're fully dilated and 100 per cent effaced. The baby's head is well down the birth canal and almost ready to make an appearance. I'd say it's time to push, Louisa."

She turns to the Doc. "Take off your suit jacket and tie," she instructs. He looks at her incredulously. "You heard me," she says. "Take them off. You're not going to act as a birth coach wearing a suit and tie."

The Doc slowly removes his jacket as Stirling begins to gather the various tools she needs, setting them carefully at the foot of the bed.

"Should I push?" Louisa asks as the next contraction builds.

"No," Stirling says, sitting down on the bed beside Louisa's open knees. "Try to pant through this one. Once the Chief gets situated, I'll have you start pushing.

"Situated where?" he asks suspiciously.

"Behind Louisa, supporting her neck and back. As soon as this contraction is finished, in about 40 seconds, I'll help you get in the proper position."

"I think I should be down here beside you," he says. "Just in case you need my help."

Stirling gives him an annoyed glare. "Are you now the attending physician?" she asks. He remains silent. "Your wife needs a birth coach and you're it. She's going to need your support and encouragement to push this baby out. After all, she's the one doing the delivering, not you and not I. I'm just here to watch and make sure it all turns out well."

The Doc opens his mouth to say something but closes his lips reluctantly.

"Martin, please. Come sit with me. Help me push," Louisa says as she pants.

He hesitates for just a moment and then climbs up the bed, sliding in behind his wife, his legs on either side of her body and his back braced against the headboard. "Perfect," says Stirling, gently helping Louisa lean forward. "Chief, shimmy closer behind her and I'll put this pillow here."

Stirling has Louisa lean back against the Doc's chest. "Okay, next contraction will begin in 20 seconds and I want you to lean forward and push as hard as you can. You've done this before and I know you can do it again."

"How do you know?" Louisa asks.

"Because I have faith in you," Stirling answers simply.

"No, how do you know when the next contraction is going to start?"

She blushes, embarrassed by the misunderstanding. "Because I've been counting off the seconds in my head," she explains, watching as Louisa prepares to push. "Since I arrived, your contractions have increased in length to about 80 seconds with a recovery period of about 50 to 60 seconds between them. Now take a deep breath and push."

* * *

A little over an hour later, Louisa is still pushing. Progress has been slow. For every step forward, the baby has taken a half-step back. The little one is very close to crowning but Louisa's strength is lagging and Stirling can tell.

"You're very close," she says, looking up as the labouring woman pushes through the contraction. "I know you can do it! You're almost there!"

She glances over Louisa's shoulder at the Doc and gives him a look, motioning with her eyes for him to say something, to encourage his wife. He looks completely out of his depth.

Stirling feels another flare of annoyance. "I don't care if you're shy," she hisses, leaning close to his ear. "Whisper it, I don't care. But say something to help her, support her. She needs to hear it from you, not me."

She turns her attention back to Louisa, who takes another deep breath, grits her teeth and pushes. Stirling smiles as she watches the baby's head bulge further out and quickly seizes her mirror. She situates it so both Louisa and the Doc can see. "You're so close! Keep pushing!"

The Doc leans forward and whispers encouragement in her ear, prompting Louisa to bear down harder, keening from the pain.

"Perfect, Louisa. Now stop," Stirling says, reaching down to help stretch the tissues to accommodate the crowning head. "Pant through the rest of the contraction and push again on the next one."

She glances up quickly and notices the Doc continuing to whisper in his wife's ear. She smiles to herself as she drops her head back down to the job at hand. _About bloody time!_ she thinks.

Half a minute later, Louisa bears down again and easily pushes out the rest of the baby's head. Stirling has her once again stop pushing as she gently rotates the baby's body to assist in the delivery of the shoulders. One push more and the little one is out and wailing.

"Aces! It's a girl," says Stirling softly, rubbing the baby's back and suctioning the mucus from her mouth. She wraps her in a blanket and sets her gently on Louisa's stomach. "A girl," the new mother says reverently, cuddling her baby close to her chest.

Stirling watches the Doc's eyes shine as he looks down on his new daughter. "She's beautiful," he whispers.

She arches her eyebrows in surprise. _What a very unChief-like thing for him to say! _she thinks with a smile as she clamps the umbilical cord. "Would you like to do the honours, Chief?" she asks, holding out a pair of surgical scissors. He ignores her.

Stirling chuckles quietly to herself as she cuts through the cord. After replacing the surgical pad with a fresh one, she covers Louisa's bottom half and stands up stiffly. She pulls off her gloves before reaching back to rub her sore muscles. _I'm getting too front heavy for this_, she thinks as she awkwardly walks over to her doctor's bag. She glances at her watch.

"I'm just going to step out for a minute," she says, not in the least bit surprised when she is met by silence. The Doc and Louisa have eyes only for their new little girl. "Just give me a shout if you feel the contractions start again."

Stirling is still moving stiffly as she walks out of the bedroom, closing the door partially behind her. She walks down the hall and into the kitchen, twisting her body from side-to-side in an unsuccessful attempt to crack her back. _Where's a chiropractor when you need one?_ she thinks as she gazes at the cupboards and drawers, wondering where the bin liners are kept.

"Thank god that's over!" a familiar but unexpected voice says from behind her, making her jump. With a stab of pain and a satisfying crack, Stirling feels her back shift into alignment.

_Joe!_ she thinks, spinning around with a gasp of surprise. _I forgot all about Joe!_

He still sits at the kitchen table, now looking rather pallid and pasty-faced. "I thought that would never end."

Stirling feels a surge of sympathy for him. "Just be glad you weren't the one doing the pushing," she says, walking over and putting her arms around him. She bends over slightly and kisses the top of his head. "It's a girl, by the way. And, thankfully, she looks just like Louisa. Even the ears."

Joe leans his head gently against his wife's bulging belly, his own stomach still feeling a bit wobbly. He just isn't cut out for dealing with people in pain. Listening to Louisa's cries have left him feeling nauseous. The thought of Stirling undergoing the same pain makes his insides clench with apprehension and fear.

"You were amazing, by the way," he says.

She snorts. "I did nothing. Louisa was the amazing one; she did all the work. Like the overwhelming majority of child births I attend, I just sat there and looked useful."

"I know that's not true. I heard you encouraging her, telling Louisa when to push and when not to."

"Hmmmm," she hums, closing her eyes as a wave of exhaustion flows over her. The adrenaline is wearing off and she can feel it. She shifts her arms upward, resting them for a moment on Joe's shoulders before moving a hand to his head. She runs her fingers slowly through his short, black hair, trying unsuccessfully to fight back a yawn.

"You must be knackered," he says, moving his own arms around her waist and rubbing his hands up and down her back.

Stirling's mind begins to drift toward unconsciousness, her body swaying unsteadily on her feet. She feels Joe's arms tighten, balancing her. She's not sure how long she dozes standing up but her body suddenly jerks uncontrollably as her head bobs forward, startling both of them. She glances at her watch. Somehow, 15 minutes have passed.

She gently eases her body away from Joe. He glances up at her, looking much better than he had a few minutes ago.

"Your fingers felt wonderful," he says softly. "I think I should take you home now before you pass out."

Stirling smiles slightly. "Tempting. But I have to check on Louisa and the baby."

With one last caress down the side of Joe's face, she turns and walks back down the hall, stopping to knock politely on the partially open door before walking in.

* * *

It's another hour before Stirling can even think about leaving the mother and new baby, who are both dozing on the bed. Thankfully, Joe had found the bin liners and the bedroom has been returned to its original condition. Everyone's been bathed and cleaned up, the bed stripped and remade, peace and normalcy returning.

As she helped Louisa change into a clean nightgown, Stirling had glanced occasionally at the Doc walking slowly back and forth at the far end of the bedroom, rocking his newborn daughter. It was a fascinating sight to see, a side of her Chief she had never really observed before.

He and Louisa had also announced a name for their new dark-haired beauty – Sarah Joan Ellingham.

"That's lovely," she said as she repacked her doctor's bag, wrapping a small bin liner around the instruments she needs to clean and sterilize before she shoves them in.

Now, Stirling's head-bobbing at the kitchen table as the Doc makes himself a tea. Joe watches her with concern, reaching forward occasionally as her head comes dangerously close to hitting the edge of the wooden table top.

"I think I better take you home now," he says, standing up and grabbing her bag. He reaches out and takes her arm, giving it a slight tug. She looks up with a yawn.

"I should stop in and see how Morwenna and her baby are doing."

"No. You should go home and get some sleep."

She feels a spark of irritation but she's too tired to argue. She stands slowly, moving away from the table and extending her hand to the Doc.

"Congratulations, Chief," she says as they shake hands. "She's beautiful."

"Thank you for your assistance, Dr. Aylesworth," he answers formally.

"Congratulations, Doc," Joe adds, gently directing Stirling out of the kitchen and down the hall toward the door outside. She snags her helmet and jacket as they walk by. Outside, she stumbles slightly as she stifles a yawn, looking around with confusion as she tries to remember where she parked the Triumph. Joe steadies her before she falls down, leading her toward the passenger door of the Land Rover.

"I need to drive the Triumph home," she says as he opens the door.

"It can wait," he says, helping her in. "I'll walk back and get it later."

He sets her doctor's bag on the seat beside her and shuts the door, walking around to the driver's side. As he settles behind the wheel, he smiles as he feels Stirling rest her head on his left shoulder. By the time he backs out onto the road, she's asleep. She's snoring lightly by the time he pulls into the car park in front of the station.

"Come on Cheeky," he says softly as he opens the passenger door, reaching to help her out of the vehicle. She's half asleep as he walks her into the house, stopping briefly to help take off her boots. He half drags, half carries her up the stairs to the bedroom, setting her down on her side of the bed to help remove her clothing. He pulls back the duvet and lets her get comfortable before pulling it back over her. He bends down to kiss her forehead; she's already asleep.

* * *

It's dark when Stirling opens her eyes. She turns her head to look at her alarm clock – it's half seven. She's been asleep a little over six hours and her stomach feels hollow. She's ravenous.

She sits up and climbs out of the bed, grabbing her house coat as she walks by her wardrobe. She's tying it closed as she walks out into the hall, stopping with a sigh as she's blasted by the heavenly smell of something scrummy. Her stomach grumbles. After a quick stop in the loo, she walks downstairs. The kitchen is empty but she can hear noise from the lounge. She sticks her head through the doorway and finds Joe lying on the chesterfield watching football on the telly.

"You're alive," he says, sitting up with a smile. "I looked in on you about an hour ago, just after I came back from fetching the Triumph, but you were still snoring."

"I don't snore," she says as she walks over to the chesterfield. She gives a shriek of surprise as he grabs her around the waist, pulling her down onto his lap.

"Oh yes you do," Joe growls, leaning over and kissing her hard on the lips. She's trying to shift out of his grasp when she feels a blast of cold air on her belly. _He's undone my house coat_, she realizes with surprise. She stops squirming as she feels a hand caress her stomach. It moves slowly up her side and she gasps against his lips as he touches and excites her.

She moves her body forcefully against him, knocking him backwards on the chesterfield. She's on top of Joe in an instant, her lips pressing hungrily against his, her hands caressing his face.

"Wow," he mutters, moving his mouth away from hers briefly. "Slow down, Tiger. Don't hurt yourself."

She feels a giggle build in her throat but his lips are suddenly against hers and she chokes it back. He feels fantastic pressed against her body and she kisses him harder, wanting to devour him. She feels like she could eat Joe alive and her stomach obviously agrees because it chooses that moment to let out a very loud rumble. He stills under her and then she feels his body start to shake. She pulls her lips away and discovers he's laughing.

"It would appear someone's also very hungry for food," Joe says, smiling up at her. He gently pets her hair. "Good thing I've been keeping something warm for you in the oven."

"Is that what they're calling it now," she teases saucily as he shifts under her. She moves, allowing him to sit up.

"You wait here," he says, standing. "I'll get it for you."

Stirling leans back against the chesterfield, wiggling so she can retie her house coat. Joe comes back a few minutes later with a heaping dish of homemade stew plus a few slices of bread. She is salivating as he offers her the first spoonful.

Half an hour later he gives a low whistle of respect as she takes the final bite from her third bowl.

"You'd almost think you were hungry or something," he says with a smile, setting the empty bowl and spoon on the low end table. Stirling gives a sigh of contentment as she snuggles against him, closing her eyes.

"What a day," she mutters before giving a big yawn.

"Looks like someone's sleepy again."

"No," she protests, struggling to sit upright. "I'm not tired." She covers another yawn with her hand. "Really, I'm not."

Joe laughs as he stands, dragging her up with him. "It's time for bed anyway," he says, kissing her nose before turning off the telly. He turns off the lights and leads her by the hand into the kitchen. He puts the bowl and spoon in the dishwasher before clicking off the kitchen lights and climbing the stairs, Stirling pulled along behind him.

She hangs her house coat up before crawling back into bed, watching quietly as Joe prepares to join her. She's half asleep by the time he climbs in next to her and he smiles as she shifts closer, snuggling into his arms, not even bothering to open her eyes.

_It feels bloody marvellous when she's pressed up against me_, he thinks with a sigh, closing his eyes as he struggles to banish memories of the previous evening from his mind. He knows they need to resolve the Citroen issue but it won't be tonight. It can wait a few more days. For now, he just wants to enjoy the feeling of having Stirling back where she belongs.

She's sound asleep and Joe's almost there when the telephone rings loudly. She bashes the top of her head into his chin as she gasps and sits bolt upright in bed. He's moaning in pain and holding his jaw while she sleepily rubs her stinging head, scrabbling with her other hand to grab the blaring mobile. _It's almost half nine_, she realizes as she glances at the alarm clock.


	41. Chapter 41

Stirling's fairly certain she's never felt this exhausted in her entire life – not even when she was interning in London as a medical student. Her eyes are gritty and sting as if sand has been thrown in them while her head feels like it's been stuffed with every sterile pad she's unwrapped in the past 48 hours. As she glances out the Bishope's kitchen window at the lightening sky, she's not sure if she is even conscious enough to walk the several blocks required to reach home. She doesn't want to fall on her face. Adding to her dilemma is the fact it's only half five in the morning. She's hesitant to wake Joe for a ride home, even though he had insisted she do just that when he dropped her off the previous evening.

_I can't sleep here_, she admits fuzzily, watching Claudie's husband, Tom, bustle about the kitchen cooking breakfast and warming a glass of milk for his wife, who sits across the table holding the couple's newborn baby girl. _Rowenna – slender and fair._ _Such a pretty name_.

Stirling wrestles with another yawn as she tries to puzzle out in her befuddled mind what to do. _This is bloody ridiculous_, she thinks, suddenly pushing back her chair and standing up.

"Are you sure I can't make you something to eat Doc?" Tom asks from where he stands in front of the cooker. "It's not a bother."

"No, I'm fine. I should shove off for home." She leans down to grab her doctor's bag, promptly banging her forehead on the edge of the kitchen table. Her eyes water from the pain as she rubs the front of her skull, cursing creatively under her breath.

"Are you okay, Doc?" Claudie asks with concern.

"Fine, just fine," she mutters, clutching her bag handle so tightly her knuckles turn white. She edges away from the table, trying to remember how to get out of the house.

Claudie moves to stand up but Stirling waves at her to stay seated. "Don't move," she says. "Just relax. You've had an exhausting night. I can find my own way out." _Hopefully_.

She breathes a sigh of relief when she finally finds her jacket and boots, pleased she somehow managed to guess the correct hallway. She yawns several times as she puts on her gear. She misses the doorknob the first time she reaches for it but somehow makes contact the second time.

"Are you sure you don't want me to ring the Sergeant?" Tom asks as he walks up behind her.

She pauses in the doorway. "I'll be all right. It's not that far to walk home."

He doesn't look convinced but he lets her go. "Thanks for all your help, Doc."

"Congratulations Tom. Take good care of Claudie and your beautiful little girl."

Stirling manages to stagger away from the house and out to the street without falling down, taking several deep breathes in hopes of clearing her head. Unfortunately, she just ends up feeling light-headed from hyperventilating. She closes her eyes for a few seconds to steady her body before walking down the hill toward the harbour and home. _Hopefully_.

* * *

Joe sits at the kitchen table, worrying. He's been awake most of the night, waiting to hear from Stirling, but she hasn't called. He looks at his watch – it's almost six in the morning. She's been gone for more than eight hours. He reaches for his mobile.

"Dr. Aylesworth," a tired voice answers.

_It sounds like she's outside_, he thinks, frowning.

"Stirling? Where are you?"

"I'm walking down Trewetha Lane toward the harbour," she says. "At least I think I am. Is that you Joe? Why aren't you asleep?"

He mutters an oath in frustration. "Don't move! I'll be there in five minutes."

"Why?"

"Just don't move," he says, pulling on his shoes and grabbing the keys to the Land Rover before rushing out the door.

True to his word, Joe pulls onto Trewetha Lane a few minutes later, spotting Stirling as she leans against the front wall of a small cottage. He stops the Land Rover beside her and jumps out.

"Why are you only wearing boxers and a T-shirt?" she asks him.

He looks down in surprise, suddenly realizing he forgot to get dressed before he left the house. "It's not important," he says, grabbing her arm and helping her toward the passenger side of the vehicle. "Didn't I tell you to give me a ring when you were ready to leave the Bishope's?"

"I thought you'd be asleep," she says, climbing up into the Land Rover. "I didn't want to wake you."

"Stubborn woman," he grumbles as he closes the door, walking around to the driver's side. He continues down Trewetha Lane to Back Hill before turning right toward New Road and the police station.

"Claudie had a baby girl, Rowenna," Stirling says, leaning her head back against the seat and closing her eyes. "She has lovely blonde hair, just like her mum."

"That's a nice name," Joe says as he drives over the crest of the hill, down toward the small beach area across from the station.

"It's beautiful," she mutters, half asleep. "It has two meanings. Slender and fair in Welsh or fame and happiness in German."

It's as he's helping her out of the Land Rover in front of their house that he notices the bruise on her forehead. "What happened?" he asks, gently touching the front of her head.

She flinches with a hiss of pain. "I hit my head on the Bishope's kitchen table," she explains as they walk through the front door.

"How did you manage to do that?"

"I was bending over to fetch my doctor's bag. I wasn't paying attention."

He stops in the kitchen and situates her in front of the window so he can get a clearer look. He gives a low whistle. "I think we should put some ice on that."

As Joe moves about the kitchen putting together a flannel of ice, Stirling sits down at the table with a sigh of relief. "I've reached a decision," she says, pausing dramatically as she rests her head against her crossed arms on the table's surface. "No more babies."

He pauses in front of the sink and glances over his shoulder at her. "I hate to be the one to tell you this but you're seven months pregnant. I think it's either too late or too early for you to be making that kind of decision."

She makes a scoffing noise in her throat. "Let me rephrase that. No more delivering other people's babies."

"Sit up," Joe gently orders as he stands in front of her, placing the flannel-covered ice against her bruised forehead. "I'm pretty certain you don't really mean that."

Stirling lets out a frustrated breath. "I'll rephrase it again. No more delivering other people's babies all at the same time."

He smiles. "That might be out of your control."

"Please, don't shatter my dreams, Lover Boy. Let me live in my fantasy world a little bit longer."

He laughs, leaning over and kissing her cheek. "Can you hold this now?" he asks, bringing her right hand up to grip the ice-filled cloth. "Are you hungry?"

Stirling shakes her head, melting ice water flicking from her forehead. "I'm just really, really exhausted. I didn't believe this was possible but I actually think I'm too tired to chew."

As Joe leans back against the kitchen counter, he notices her head start to bob again. "Time for bed," he announces, reaching out for her arm.

"I can't go to bed now," she says, looking at him with some alarm. "I have to be at the surgery in a few hours."

"No," he says stubbornly, dragging her up the stairs. "Bed."

"No," she answers, stopping and bracing her feet in the upstairs hall. "I have patients to see."

"Cheeky, you've had about six hours sleep in the past 48 hours. You're exhausted. Do you think it's reasonable to see patients when you've just finished admitting to me you're too tired to even consider eating?"

She's silent for a moment, trying to wrap her muddled mind around what Joe is saying. "I can't cancel and reschedule appointments two days in a row."

"You can if you're too exhausted to chew. Or stand upright."

He drags her forcibly down the rest of the hallway and into the bedroom. "Take your clothes off and get in bed."

Stirling stares at him in disbelief, folding her arms stubbornly across her chest. "No!"

He stares back. "Either you do it or I do it for you."

"I don't have time for this," she mutters, fighting back a yawn as she moves toward the bedroom door. Joe steps in front of her, blocking her way.

She gasps in surprise as her large belly rebounds off his body. "What's with the Alpha male routine?"

He arches his eyebrows. "What's with the silly, stubborn female routine?"

"Silly?!"

Suddenly, their mouths are pressed together in a passionate kiss. Joe scrambles with his hands to remove her blouse while Stirling tugs forcefully on his T-shirt. _What were we arguing about? _she wonders foggily as he lowers her backward on to the bed. _Ugh! W__ho cares?_

* * *

It's almost dark when Stirling opens her eyes. She groans as she sees the time – six o'clock. A chuckle from behind her causes her to roll over quickly. Joe lies beside her in bed, reading through some papers, fully dressed in his uniform.

"You bastard!" she says, propping herself up on her elbows. "You tricked me into falling asleep!"

He laughs, glancing over at her. "Tricked you? It wasn't that difficult. You muttered 'Oh my god!' and immediately went unconscious. You've barely moved all day."

She blushes, embarrassed.

"So what happened?"

He frowns. "When?"

"Today! What happened today?"

He thinks for a moment. "Not much. You fell asleep and I had a shower and got dressed. Curtis Mayfair's dog ran off again and killed one of Alec Ferris' geese. I had to go sort out that mess before Alec shot Shep. I ran out of tea this morning so I walked up to the store. Louisa was there with Sarah and – "

"That's not what I meant! What happened at the surgery today?"

"I phoned Alex first thing at eight and told her to reschedule all of your appointments because you wouldn't be in. When she was done that, I said she could go home."

Stirling lays her head back against her pillow and groans.

"It all worked out," he assures her. "There was only one medical emergency call all day and I dealt with it."

She immediately sits up, her eyes wide in alarm. "What!"

Joe looks a bit hurt. "I dealt with it. Al needed some advice."

She closes her eyes and shudders. "Al? What was the emergency?"

Now it's his turn to blush. "He said Morwenna was having some problems nursing Albie."

"Albie?"

"You know, Albert, their baby."

"Oh," she says, feeling stupid. "I never heard what they named him."

"Anyway, Al said Morwenna was having problems getting the little fellow to latch on and, when she did manage to get him on, it hurt like the devil and she couldn't relax enough for the milk to let down."

Stirling stares at him, expressionless. She can imagine Joe sitting with his feet up in the office of the police station, biro in hand and a word search book open in front of him, discussing Morwenna's nursing issues with Al over the telephone. The whole thing seems surreal.

"What did you suggest?"

"I read him the advice they give in the book."

She blinks. "What book?"

"The _What to Expect When You're Expecting_ book. I told him he should order it from Waterstones or maybe go to the library and read it."

She has an overwhelming urge to laugh but fights it back, not wanting to hurt Joe's feelings. "Did it help?"

He smiles. "Al phoned a few hours later and said they tried a couple of the ideas I suggested and it worked like a charm. The pain was gone and Albie was eating like a little piglet."

Stirling feels oddly hurt. _I spent eight years in university, have 10 years of specialized training and more than 14 years of hands-on medical experience and I've been replaced by a police sergeant armed with a third-rate pregnancy advice book._ But seeing the gleam of pride in her husband's eyes makes her smile.

"You'll soon be delivering babies yourself, Lover Boy," she teases, leaning over and kissing him affectionately.

Joe pales. "I don't think so!"

She laughs, snuggling her head against his chest and wrapping her arms around him. She sighs with contentment as she feels one of his arms move around to touch her back, pressing her against his body. She glances at the papers in his hand. "What are you reading?"

"Just some information Sergeant Thomas sent me about Devon and Cornwall's Special Operations recruitment process."

She looks up in surprise. "Sergeant Thomas? You mean Sergeant Dave Thomas? Chief Barnett's son-in-law?"

He nods his head. "The force is sending invites out soon for the tryout. I've been informed I'm on the long list."

"Really?" She sits up in excitement. "Really!"

"Really."

Stirling vibrates the bed with her enthusiasm, throwing a leg over Joe so she is straddles his lap, facing him. "That's bloody fantastic!" she shouts, hugging his head against her chest. She loosens her grip just enough to kiss him.

"Wow! I should make announcements about my work more often."

"You should," she says with a smile, kissing him again. "I'm so happy for you. We should go out for dinner tonight and celebrate."

"Don't get carried away. I've only made the long list, Cheeky. They haven't announced the team yet."

"You'll make it," she says confidently, leaning her forehead against his.

"I spend much more time with you, I could end up with a swelled head."

"That's the idea, Sergeant," she says with a saucy grin.

"Aren't you a naughty girl," he says softly, leaning forward to kiss her. She laughs loudly and squirms wildly as his fingers come up to tickle her sides. Within seconds, she finds herself flat on her back with Joe above her, both her arms held above her head.

"Do you want me to assume the position, officer?"

"Yes, please," he says with a passionate shudder as his lips slowly trace a route down her neck and along her shoulders.

_Special operations indeed_, she thinks with a sigh.

* * *

Stirling is leaning back in her chair reading the Cornwall Guardian when Joe walks through the surgery's front door late Friday morning. Alex is just finishing her filing.

"Good morning, Sergeant," she says with a welcoming smile. "The Doc just finished with her last patient."

"I timed that well," he says, glancing at his watch as he walks back to the consulting room.

Stirling looks up with a smile from the newspaper as he walks in. "There's my Lover Boy," she says, rising clumsily from her chair. She reaches over and gives him a long kiss, making Alex giggle.

"Get a room!" the receptionist catcalls.

"I've got a room upstairs," Stirling calls back. "Interested, officer?" she whispers in Joe's ear, making him blush.

"No time, Cheeky," he says, tickling her ribs until she shrieks with laughter. She bumps him with her hip as they walk into the waiting room, slapping his arse with her doctor's bag.

"You two are too sweet," Alex says with a grimace as she leans against the file drawer. "It's sickening."

"Jealous?" Stirling teases, sticking out her tongue at the young girl, who laughs. "I'm a way to the doctor's. As soon as your finished, you can lock up and go home. I'll see you on Monday morning."

"Sure thing, Doc. Have fun!"

"Being poked, prodded and examined intimately isn't my definition of fun."

"Now you know how your patients feel," Alex calls after her as they walk out the front door.

"Why did I hire her again?" she asks Joe as he helps her into the Land Rover.

"So you'd have someone to boss around all day," he answers as he climbs behind the wheel.

"You take that back! I don't boss people around!" she says defensively as he starts the vehicle and turns it around. He makes a snorting noise as he glances over at her, fighting back a grin.

They are soon out of Portwenn and on their way to Wadebridge. About five minutes out of town, Stirling's mobile rings.

"Dr. Aylesworth," she says.

"Moneypenny!" a voice booms back at her. She smiles.

"Dr. Bond, sir!"

"You don't sound like you're in the surgery."

"No, Joe and I are on our way to my check-up."

"You must be 30 or 32 weeks by now. Getting huge?"

"I'm not huge!"

"Yes she is," calls Joe loudly. "She's gigantic! I can barely fit in the Land Rover with her."

"Shut your gob!"

Christopher laughs."I can feel the love from here. I won't keep you. I just wanted to remind you about the fundraiser I'm organizing for May 3. How many tickets should I set aside for the Cornwall crew?"

"Four," she says. "I had a chat with the Chief; he and Louisa are coming too."

"Fantastic! I'm looking forward to it. Oh, and Leyland brought the Citroen down from Norfolk last weekend. It should be ready for you to pick up in about a fortnight. Or maybe we should arrange a delivery driver?"

Stirling quickly glances over at Joe, hoping he can't hear Christopher's loud voice over the sound of the Land Rover. They haven't yet resolved the issue of the Citroen, both of them avoiding the topic for the past few days. "I'll have to get back to you about that."

"No hurry," he quips. "Michael is really looking forward to your visit, LingLing. I think he's planning on treating everyone to dinner out and a play at the Savoy on the Friday night."

"Aces! I haven't been to a West End production in years!"

"When I told Duncan you and Joe were coming to the fundraiser, he became really excited. He mentioned telling all your old fans at the Bristol Bobby. He wants you to sing a few songs with the band. I explained to him you'll be really, really pregnant by then but I don't think he understands the concept."

She laughs. "I'm pregnant, Christopher, not dead."

"I see you don't understand the concept of being really, really pregnant either."

"And you do?"

"Of course! I'm a paediatrician!"

Stirling laughs. "I miss you Christy!" She looks out the window, realizing they are very close to their destination in Wadebridge. "I should go. We're almost to the obstetrician's surgery. I'll talk to you later. Give Michael and Leyland my love."

"Same to Joe. Chow bella!"

She clicks off her mobile. "Christy says hiya."

"Sounds like he's getting excited about your upcoming visit."

"Our upcoming visit," she says, frowning slightly as they pull into the car park of a modern-looking medical building just off Eddystone Road. "I loathe visits to the doctor."

"That seems a bit ironic, don't you think?" he asks as he opens the passenger door and helps her down.

"Not really. Do you enjoy spending time in speed cuffs? Or behind bars?"

He looks at her with a smirk. "I think it would depend on why I was wearing the speed cuffs," he says, holding the surgery door open. A heavily pregnant women walking out at that moment gives him a strange look over her shoulder as she walks out to her vehicle.

Stirling laughs as she walks through the door. "You better behave, Sergeant," she says, gripping his hand as they enter the crowded waiting room. "You don't want to shock anyone into preterm labour."

She leans over and kisses him on the lips, ignoring several stares from around the room.

Joe fights back a blush. "Speaking of behaving – "

Her eyes never move from Joe's. "Stirling Aylesworth for a 12:30 appointment with Dr. Silva," she says to the receptionist who walks up to the front counter at that moment.

"Just have a seat, Dr. Aylesworth. Dr. Silva's running a bit behind but she'll get to you soon. You can do your weight and urine work if you like, while you wait."

Stirling sighs as she looks around the room, searching for an empty chair. They're all occupied. "I might as well get the nasty stuff over with first," she mutters, walking up to an electronic scale situated just outside the public loo. She steps up on it and tries not to flinch as she looks down at the number. Joe looks over her shoulder and gives an impressed whistle. She elbows him as she steps down.

"That hurt," he whispers in her ear, rubbing his chest.

"Behave!" she hisses, slamming the loo door in his face.

He smiles to himself as he turns to face the waiting room, instantly surprised by the number of people staring at him. Suddenly self conscious, he slowly shifts over to lean against a vacant stretch of wall as he waits for Stirling to finish her urine tests.

She pops out the loo door about five minutes later. "All normal," she says, drying her hands. She glances at the waiting room, spotting a vacant chair in the far corner. She walks over and sits down with a sigh. Joe leans against the wall beside her, leafing through a celebrity gossip magazine he snags from a nearby table.

Twenty minutes later, they're still waiting and she's beginning to squirm restlessly. "I'd be run out of town if I made my patients wait this long!" she grumbles, feeling a twinge of guilt when she remembers she missed two days of appointments earlier this week. "Okay, I take that back."

"Dr. Aylesworth?" a nurse calls from a nearby doorway.

She awkwardly stands up, Joe reaching over to support an arm. She smiles at him thankfully.

They follow the nurse down a hallway to a vacant consulting room. Stirling hands her a piece of paper with her weight written on it plus the levels of sugar and protein in her urine. The nurse writes it in the patient folder before reaching for a blood pressure cuff. She frowns at the resulting numbers as she records them.

"You're a little high. I'll take it again before you leave, see what it says then." She pauses in the doorway. "Dr. Silva should be with you shortly."

Joe looks over with concern. "Your blood pressure's high?"

She shrugs. "It's probably nothing. I might be worked up from the wait. We'll see what it is later."

He reaches over and holds her hand while they wait some more.

"Stirling. Joe. Sorry about the wait," Dr. Silva says as she rushes through the door about five minutes later. "I'm afraid I've had babies popping out everywhere."

"I can relate to that," Stirling quips.

"Well, you're not quite ready to pop yet. But not too much longer to wait." The doctor glances at her patient folder. "Your weight is climbing slowly but surely. How's your appetite been? Any nausea?"

"She's been eating everything in the cupboards," Joe jokes.

"I've been feeling fine," Stirling adds, giving him a dirty look. "I haven't had any nausea in several months."

Dr. Silva looks up and smiles. "Good to hear. Okay, up on the examination bench. Let's look at that belly and listen to that baby."

Joe helps her up and she lies back carefully. After lifting up her blouse, the doctor carefully measures the height of her uterus and palpates her stomach gently. "Still lot's of kicking and movement?"

Stirling nods her head. "Sometimes he wakes me up at night."

"Rude little sprog, isn't he?" the doctor teases, reaching for a bottle of water-soluble gel and squeezing a dollop on her belly. She slides the hand-held doppler around in the gel, searching for the baby's heartbeat. She smiles as the rapid lub-lub echoes through the room.

"That's a very healthy sound."

Stirling feels a wave of happiness flow over her as she listens to the heartbeat. She smiles as she feels Joe gently wrap his fingers around hers before leaning over and kissing her cheek.

"He's not yet moved head down but that's not surprising. There's still a bit of time yet. And don't be surprised if movement slows a bit in the next few weeks. Space is going to be tight in there soon."

She helps wipe the gel from Stirling's belly with a warm cloth before giving her some assistance to sit up on the examination bench. "Your pregnancy appears to be advancing well. We'll stick to the two week appointment schedule for now but late next month I'll probably increase your visits to every week so be prepared."

Dr. Silva makes a few notes in Stirling's folder. "Have you found someone to cover the surgery for you?"

"An old friend of mine from medical school is bringing his family down from London for the summer. They're going to stay at the surgery while he has a working holiday. He's been telling me for the past few years how he wants to get his wife and little ones out of the city for the summer. This is the perfect opportunity for them and he's looking forward to it."

"When's he expected?"

"They're moving down around the end of April. I'm hoping to do half days for a few weeks as he settles in, help him get used to the village and the people. Right now, my last day is scheduled for the second Friday in May. I think the Devon and Cornwall Policeman's Ball is that same weekend," she says, giving Joe a questioning look.

"It is," he says with a smile.

"I'm not sure how much dancing you'll be feeling like doing by then," Dr. Silva warns. "But if you have the energy, there's no reason you can't. Just don't go overboard. No dance competitions or marathons. I'm going to give you the same caution about sex," she adds, making Joe blush. "There's no reason to stop – as long as you still want to and are comfortable – but don't try anything too wild or adventurous. And don't be surprised if you experience a short stretch of contractions afterward. If they become regularly spaced, about every five minutes, and continue for longer than an hour, you should call the office. Have you started feeling Braxton Hicks?"

Stirling nods.

"Those will become more frequent now as well."

Joe clears his throat nervously. "What about Stirling's blood pressure?"

Dr. Silva frowns slightly as she looks in the patient folder. "It is a bit high. Let's take it again," she says, reaching for the blood pressure cuff. Her frown deepens when she sees the new number.

"It's the same," she says, recording it in the folder. "I'm not going to get too worried about it right now. It's not overly high and you're not experiencing any headaches or shortness of breath?"

Stirling shakes her head.

"I think we should just keep a close eye on it for now. Maybe you want to measure yourself every other day for now and see if it fluctuates much. Obviously, if it shoots sky high, contact the surgery. But a few numbers up or down is no reason to become alarmed."

Dr. Silva smiles. "Good. Keep up the good work, Stirling. And I'll see you in fortnight."

She gives a little wave and quickly rushes out the door to her next patient.

After arranging for her next appointment, Stirling and Joe walk out to the Land Rover. "Let's stop and get some lunch in town before driving back to Portwenn," he suggests as he helps her in the vehicle.

"Sounds like a great idea," she says, leaning back against the seat and closing her eyes. She suddenly feels very tired.

Joe looks over at her after he climbs into the driver's side. He reaches out a hand and gently strokes the side of her face, leaning forward and kissing her affectionately. "You look so beautiful," he whispers, making her blush. "So, so beautiful."

She opens her eyes and smiles, gazing into his handsome face. "Flattery will get you everywhere, especially into my bed."

"And from the sounds of things, we can keep that activity going for a little while longer, as long as you're still up for it and aren't in any pain or uncomfortable."

"Shagtastic news," she says softly, biting and sucking on his bottom lip.

"That's enough of that, you little minx," he says, pulling away from her and starting the Land Rover. "We still need to have some lunch."

"But we should leave room for desert."

"Definitely," he says with a grin as they pull out of the car park.


	42. Chapter 42

As Stirling walks down the hill toward home, she feels a pain in her ribs sharp enough to stop her in mid-stride. The baby is kicking – hard. She puts her hand gently over her stomach and applies pressure, hoping to shift him away from the tender area. With a stomach-dropping effect, similar to the first downward rush of a roller coaster, the baby moves his body, deciding to stomp on her bladder instead.

She's anticipating a visit to the loo as she walks through the front door, hanging her doctor's bag on a free hook. She shrugs out of her coat and kicks off her boots, setting them neatly to the side. She walks into the kitchen, which looks like a bomb has gone off in it.

_And whatever blew up smells wonderful_, she thinks, lifting a pot lid to examine the sauce bubbling inside. _Mmmmm – seafood fettuccine_. Her stomach growls loudly.

"Hello?" she calls looking in the lounge – empty. "Hello? Joe?" she calls up the stairs – nothing.

She turns toward the connecting door and turns the knob quietly, poking her head through the opening. She can hear Joe's voice but no one else.

_He must be on the office phone_.

She closes the door softly and goes back to the cooker, turning down the temperature of the in-use hobs. She stirs the sauce, pleased to find it hasn't burnt to the bottom, and then checks the pasta. _Not too sticky_.

She carefully sets the table and quickly whips together a salad. She's so lost in her own little universe she doesn't hear the connecting door open and close. She's looking out the window above the cooker when she feels a presence behind her, Joe's arms wrapping around her from behind, his lips pressing into her neck.

"How's my Cheeky Tart tonight?" he whispers in her ear, making her smile. She turns in his arms and kisses him, long and deep.

"That good?" he asks when she finally shifts her head back from his lips.

She nods her head, smiling.

"And how's this bloke treating you?" he asks, looking down at her rounded belly between them.

"Very active," she says, taking his hand and placing it where the kicking and punching is the strongest.

He smiles as he feels the movement. "Abusive little sprog, isn't he?"

"Very demanding, just like his daddy," Stirling says, kissing Joe again.

"I'm demanding?" he questions, pulling back to look at her. "I'd say his mum is being pretty demanding right now."

With a wicked smile, she pulls Joe's lips back to hers, teasing them with her teeth. He wraps his arms tightly around her, pulling her as close to his body as he can with her large stomach between them. His hands move lower down her back.

"Beautiful," he whispers against her lips. "You look so beautiful."

Stirling looks down shyly, blushing.

"And very adorable," he adds.

Just then, her stomach growls loudly.

"And very hungry," he says, laughing.

He steps back and checks the pots on the cooker. "I think we better eat before you fade away from starvation."

She grabs the plates from the table and watches as Joe scoops fettuccine noodles on each. Next, he smothers the noodles with white sauce filled with chunks of seafood. He carries both plates to the table, urging Stirling to sit down.

She closes her eyes as she takes her first bite and savours the rich sauce. "This is amazing," she says, pointing enthusiastically at her plate with her fork. "I think you've outdone yourself."

He laughs, enjoying watching her eat with such enthusiasm. Her appetite has grown right along with the circumference of her stomach.

"How was your day?" he asks.

"Fairly busy," she says, recounting a couple of her more memorable cases without naming names. "How about you?"

"It was fairly routine, although Wadebridge did send out an alert about a string of burglaries targeting empty cottages along the coast. I also received a phone call from," he pauses for dramatic effect, "Sergeant David Thomas."  
Stirling looks up from her pasta, her eyes dancing with excitement. "And?"

"I've been invited to try out for the special operations team," he says, smiling.

Stirling stares at him for a moment and then her face slowly shapes into that big, amazing, all encompassing smile he adores. "Aces!" she shouts, jumping up from her chair and launching herself at Joe, giving him a big hug and kiss. "This is so brilliant!" she says, bouncing up and down in excitement, her stomach jiggling with her.

"Calm down before you hurt yourself," Joe says, pulling her onto his lap. "I think you just may be more excited than I am."

"I am!" she says grinning. "You've been waiting on this for a long time. I'm so happy for you!"

She kisses his cheek and hugs him again. "Sergeant Joe Penhale, Special Ops," she says in a deep-sounding, mysterious voice.

"You're barmy," he says, laughing. "Go eat your dinner before it goes cold."

She gives him one last kiss before scampering back to her seat and her meal. She practically vibrates in her chair "So how does this tryout process work?" she questions excitedly. "Do you have to crawl through the muck and shoot at targets? Do you go to Exeter for the day or do we go there for a weekend or two?"

"This isn't like trying out for a sports team," Joe says with a chuckle. "I have to write a couple of tests in Bude and then I spend a fortnight on a training exercise with the rest of the recruits."

Stirling almost gives herself whiplash as she looks up quickly from her dinner. "A fortnight!" There's a hint of emotion in her voice, which makes Joe look up from his plate with concern. "A fortnight?" she asks, her voice quieting.

Joe feels a twinge of worry. "Yes, all of the recruits – there are about 12 of us – are sent out on a training exercise on Dartmoor and rated on how we work together, our different strengths, weaknesses, and abilities. Based on our performance, they pick out six promising candidates and, after considering the test results and following an in depth interview, four are chosen to join the team."

Stirling looks at him, a strange look on her face. She smiles weakly, her enthusiasm seeming to have disappeared. She picks at her food and clears her throat, taking a big drink of water. "When will you be going?" she asks in a strained, perky-sounding voice.

He looks at her strangely. "The training exercise is in a few weeks, April 16 to 30. Next week, I'll be spending a few days in Bude writing the tests."

"What kind of tests? Maybe I can help you study."

"They're mostly on investigative procedure," he says. "I found a few examples online so I know what to expect."

She nods her head several times and takes another drink, coughing slightly. She coughs again. "Excuse me," she says hoarsely. "I seem to have a funny tickle in my throat. I'll just be a moment."

She gets up from the table and walks swiftly upstairs, actually moving quite quickly despite being so front heavy. Joe watches her, a slight frown on his face. He hears the loo door open and close, followed by the sound of water running.

He sits at the table quietly, eating his dinner and waiting. Five minutes later, she still hasn't returned. The water is still running.

He quietly rises from the table and walks up the stairs, stopping in front of the loo door. "Stirling?" he calls, knocking. "Are you okay?"

The sound of rustling comes from the other side of the door. "I'm fine," says a weak voice. "I'll be out in a minute."

"Cheeky?" he calls again. He tries the knob, finding it locked. "Open the door, Stirling" he says, his voice rising as he knocks again. "You might as well open the door. If you don't, I'll just pick the lock." He hopes she's not aware that he's not that proficient at lock picking.

There's the sound of movement from inside the loo and the knob clicks. He waits a moment and opens the door carefully, poking his head around the side. Stirling sits on the closed lid of the toilet, her shoulders shaking and her face in her hands. She looks up when she hears him, her eyes red and swollen, cheeks streaked with tears. She sobs and lowers her head again, trying to hide her face from him.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, trying hard not to hiccup. "I'm ruining this for you and I don't want to do that. But I just can't be the enthusiastic, supportive spouse at the moment. Just give me a little more time. I'll get used to the idea."

Joe walks into the loo and sits on the edge of the tub, his knees touching hers.

"Cheeky," he says softly, reaching out and petting her head. "Don't cry."

"I'm going to miss you," she whispers.

"And here I thought you would enjoy some time on your own without me constantly pawing at you," he says in a gentle, teasing voice. "I thought you would be looking forward to finally getting some sleep."

He laughs quietly at his lecherous joke but realizes Stirling's not seeing the humour in the situation

She looks over at him, her face streaked with tears. "I love it when you paw at me. I love sleeping next to you," she says in a choked-up voice. "I love waking up beside you. We haven't really spent an evening apart since our first night together – except when I was in the hospital and that night before our wedding. I love you," she whispers. "I don't want to be away from you for one night, let alone 14."

She wipes at the tears that have overflowed her eyes.

He looks at her helplessly. "It's part of the recruitment process, Cheeky. Everyone has to go on the training exercise. Do you not want me to try out?"

No!" she says emphatically. "I know how much this means to you. I wouldn't ask you to do that."

He smiles at her, brushing away the tears under her eyes with his thumbs. "I know you're not happy about us being apart," he says. "I'm not happy about it either. But it's a big opportunity for me. I've missed out on it two times before."

Stirling puts her face in her hands. "I know! I know!" she says angrily. "I'm sorry! I'm trying; really I am. This hormonal hell isn't helping," she adds, gesturing to her stomach. "It's just – I'm really going to miss you," she says, looking in his eyes. "I'm going to miss having you hold me and touch me; winding my legs through yours; resting my head on your chest; waking up in the middle of the night to make love with you; having you touch my belly when the baby moves; having you kiss my lips, my forehead, my cheeks, my belly, my body."

"Damn," Joe whispers, giving an audible gulp as he stares back at Stirling. "You've never said those things to me before. Crikey!"

"Now you're telling me I won't be able to experience any of that for two weeks. I don't know if I can stand being apart from you for that long." She reaches out tentatively and gently cups the side of his face, her fingers caressing his bristly cheek.

Joe leans forward, kissing her softly at first and then with a building passion. His hands begin to rove over her body and he finds himself pulling her onto his lap. He starts to slowly undo the buttons on her shirt, which she mirrors. With each button Stirling opens, she kisses the section of his skin bared. Once his chest is fully revealed, she slowly pulls the shirt off his body, throwing it behind her. He soon has her topless as well, her body pressed as close to his as possible with her large belly between them.

He stands up, pulling her upright with him. "Let's go to bed," he whispers, kissing down her neck, across her shoulder.

"It's kind of early, don't you think?" she teases. His lips move lower to her breasts and she gasps, then moans throatily. "That sounds like a great idea," she says breathlessly, kissing him hungrily.

They stumble out of the cramped quarters of the loo and into the hall, Joe backing her slowly through the bedroom doorway as they continue to kiss and fondle each other. With a deft flick of his foot, he manages to catch the edge of the bedroom door, and it slowly closes behind them.

* * *

They lie together, side by side, in the darkness, neither asleep but both pretending to be. Stirling is on her left side facing into the bed, a body pillow wedged between her legs to relieve the pressure on her lower back caused by her increasing belly. Her eyes are closed but her mind is spinning, thinking of the next few weeks. Joe's tests in Bude begin next week. The week after that, he'll be away on Dartmoor for a fortnight. She'll be alone. She successfully fights back the shudder she feels at the thought.

Beside her, Joe also lies on his left side, his back to her. His eyes are closed but he is also thinking of the future – his tests next week, the training exercise for the next two weeks after that. He's worried about Stirling, how she'll manage while he's away. She is more than capable of taking care of herself, there's no doubt about that. But emotionally, she's all over the place. One minute she's happy, the next she's fighting back tears, several minutes later he's standing outside a locked loo wondering what the hell happened. And then, three minutes after that, she's unlocked the door and they're making love. It's strange, confusing and rather exhausting, both physically and mentally.

He stiffens slightly as he feels her stirring behind him and listens as she rolls over and sighs before rising to sit on the edge of the bed. She slowly gets up and shuffles over to the wardrobe to grab her housecoat. Joe watches as she shrugs it on and opens the bedroom door, closing it softly behind her. The loo door closes and a few minutes later he hears water running and then stopping. But Stirling doesn't return.

He waits about five minutes before getting up and pulling on his boxers and a T-shirt. The loo is dark as he passes the doorway but he can see a light shining up the stairs from the kitchen. He walks downstairs and finds Stirling sitting at the kitchen table, eating leftover seafood fettuccine she's heated up. She looks up as he walks into the light.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I didn't mean to wake you. I was feeling a bit peckish and remembered I didn't finish the delicious dinner you made."

Joe pulls out a chair and sits down across from her, watching her eat. He glances at the clock on the wall and flinches – almost half three in the morning. "How are you feeling?" he asks her, leaning his chin on his crossed arms, which rest on the table top.

She looks up and gives him a half smile. "Tired, emotionally drained, sad, worried, grumpy, fat – the usual."

She finishes her fettuccine and slides her plate to the side, mirroring Joe as she leans her arms on the tabletop and lowers her head. They watch one another quietly for several minutes, their eyes locked. "I love you," he whispers, reaching across to hold one of her hands. "I don't have to go."

She shakes her head. "You're going," she whispers back. "This is your moment. I'll be very upset if you let it pass you by because of me." She thinks for a moment. "And just to make sure, I'm going to drop you off myself."

She smiles at him. "I love you. You're going on that recruitment exercise."


	43. Chapter 43

As Stirling finishes her half-day of surgery a little over a week later, she tries her best not to dwell on the fortnight of Joe-less-ness that stretches ahead of her. She quietly restocks her doctor's bag and takes one last tour through the surgery before walking out the front door, stopping to lock it behind her.

She walks home, her increasing stomach size slowing her down a little. Thankfully, the backache and sciatic pain haven't started, yet, although her stomach and throat are usually irritated from heartburn. She waves to a few of the villagers who call out to her by name as she climbs the main hill and then descends down the other side to the police station.

She notices PC Garrett's little car parked beside the building and smiles. She decides to enter through the station door to say hello to the young officer, who seems to have become Portwenn's stand-in constable when Joe is required to be away. He will be staying in the guest room for the next two weeks.

He's standing in the station's office, looking through the communication window into the waiting room, when she walks through the door. He takes one look at her belly and gives a low whistle. "Doc Stirling! That's an impressive stomach you have there!"

She laughs. "Good to see you too, Arthur. How's life in Bude been?"

He shrugs. "The same."

She smiles, walking into the station office and giving him a quick hug and kiss on the cheek. "Are you still seeing that girl? What was her name, oh yeah, Reagan?" she teases.

He blushes. "Once in a while."

"A lovely girl, as I recall. Don't let her get away."

"She's trying to find a permanent job in the area so she can stay on. If not, she'll have to return home to Cardiff."

"What kind of work is she looking for?"

"Something with children," PC Garrett says. "She has training as a nursery teacher."

"Really?" Stirling states, interested. _Very_ i_nteresting_, she thinks. "Is Joe about?"

"The Sergeant's inside getting packed," he says, referring down the hall.

"Thanks, Arthur. I'll see you later."

She walks through the connecting door into the house, setting her doctor's bag near the front door. She can hear Joe banging around upstairs. She climbs the stairs, smiling as she enters the bedroom to find him staring at himself in the wardrobe mirror, inspecting his special ops training kit.

"Are you supposed to be a ninja?" she laughs, stopping to admire him also.

He looks up and smiles. "Pretty fancy, eh?" he says, rotating slowly around in a circle to show off his uniform. It consists of a pair of black fatigues, a black T-shirt with his last name across the back, and a black ball cap with Special Ops across the front and his last name embroidered on the back. There's also a special, all-weather anorak lying on the bed – black and personalized of course.

"You look very sexy in black. And handsome," she says, giving him a kiss. "And you'll always know which clothes are yours."

"I'm almost ready," he says, giving her nose a quick peck before rushing past her to the loo to grab some items.

Stirling quickly changes from her work gear to a comfortable pair of stretchy trousers, an over-sized jumper and her tall biker boots. "I'll be downstairs," she says to Joe as she passes by the loo.

"I'll be there in a few minutes," he calls to her.

In the front vestibule, she pulls on her long, light-weight leather jacket, laughing as she realizes she can only do up the top two snaps, her belly sticking out the middle. She grabs the helmets and walks out to the Triumph

A few minutes later, Joe runs out with his duffel bag, pulling his leather jacket on over his anorak. It takes him a few minutes to tie the bag down on the back of the Triumph. She tosses him his helmet and climbs on the bike, waiting while he slides on behind her. She pulls down her goggles and fires up the bike, Joe places his hands lightly on either side of her waist to avoid putting too much pressure on her stomach. Soon they are driving out of Portwenn toward the coastal road, en route to Joe's pick up point in Bude.

Stirling dreads the moment they will have to part and hopes the trip takes forever. That is not the case as they arrive in the town about 20 minutes later, her heart lurching in her chest as she pulls the Triumph into the town's high street car park. The bus is already waiting, a small group of black clad men and women standing around plus their families. She shivers involuntarily as she slowly drives over to the pick up point. She parks the Triumph near the other vehicles and pushes it up onto its kickstand.

Joe jumps off first, pulling up his goggles before turning to offer Stirling a steadying arm as she climbs off. As they both pull off their helmets, Joe begins removing the tie downs from the duffel bag. He pulls off his leather jacket and ties it and his helmet in the duffel bag's place.

Stirling looks around apprehensively, not wanting Joe to leave her. It's at this moment she realizes their arrival has attracted a lot of attention, including open stares from other recruits and their families. She smiles as she notices Sergeant Thomas approaching.

"Stirling!" he says, holding out his arms. "You are positively glowing." He gives her a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Good to see you, Joe," he says, shaking hands with him. "We're just starting to load up now. Go throw your bag in."

She watches Joe nervously as he walks over to the bus, worried he's going to disappear on her.

"We'll take good care of him, Stirling. Don't worry," Sergeant Thomas says, patting her on the back before walking over to the small crowd of waiting recruits.

She threads her helmet strap through the Triumph's handlebars and turns to wait for Joe, who is being introduced to some of the other recruits by the sergeant. She looks over at the other family members, some she recognizes from the previous year's Policeman's Ball. She smiles and waves to them, receiving a few waves back.

* * *

The leggy blonde runs into the salon, gasping for breath. "Maggie!" she calls as she sheds her anorak, replacing it with a white smock.

"That took you long enough, Becky," Maggie says with a laugh as she removes the plastic cape from her client's neck. "You look gorgeous, Mrs. Steighly," she says to the silver-haired lady in her chair.

"You will never in a million years guess who I just saw out in the car park," Becky says excitedly, her eyes dancing with mischief.

"I don't have a million years to guess, Becky," Maggie says, helping Mrs. Steighly up to the reception area. "Do you need help out to your cab?"

"Take her out, Mags," Becky says as she sits down at her nail station. "And while you're at it, have a butchers at the large collection of man flesh over by the people carrier. See if there's anyone you recognize."

Maggie gives Becky a dirty look as she helps the old lady out the front door of the salon. Once outside, she raises her hand to attract a cab from the nearby stand. Out of habit, she looks across the high street to the garage where her fiance used to work before he met another woman and moved to Bodmin. She sighs as she helps Mrs. Steighly into her cab, giving the driver the elderly woman's address. She waves to her as she drives away.

It's then she notices the group of black-clad men and women gathered by the large bus. She watches them for a few minutes, wondering if they're military. There's lots of family waiting around, including an extremely pregnant biker chick. She smiles at the woman, impressed with her nerve at wearing tall biker boots and a long leather jacket with such a round, rotund belly pushing out.

Maggie's about to turn and walk back into the salon when she notices a familiar form trotting toward the pregnant woman. She'd remember that gambolling stride anywhere. It doesn't hurt that he's wearing a black anorak with his name written on the back in vibrant white letters – Penhale.

She watches in shock as Joe – her Joe – wraps his arms around the pregnant woman, pulling her close to comfort her. As he kisses her, there's no denying their relationship is an intimate one, as if the hand he puts on her rounded belly left any doubt. Adding to her surprise are the chevrons clearly visible on the shoulders of his anorak – a sergeant. _Plain, pokey, dull and uninspiring PC Joe Penhale made sergeant_, she thinks. _Unbelievable!_

Maggie's not sure how she feels as she watches him hold the leather clad woman, obviously saying goodbye to her before he loads on the bus. She and Joe haven't been together for years – is it seven or eight? – it's been so long she can't even remember. She really has no claim on his life and rarely thinks of him. But to see him being intimate with another woman, a woman who is obviously carrying his baby – as she had once hoped to do – her feelings are in turmoil. _Could that feeling deep in my stomach actually be jealousy?_

* * *

Stirling pushes her nose harder against Joe's neck, straining to keep his smell deep in her memory. She grips the collar of his anorak, unwilling to let him go.

"It's time to load the bus now, Cheeky. I have to go," he says softly, stroking her back gently.

"Hey Romeo, move it!" someone shouts from behind him.

She feels him turn his head and grips him tighter. _Stay with me, stay with me_, she chants in her head. But she knows he has to go. She can't hold him back. This is his opportunity.

She pulls away from his neck and loosens her hold on his anorak, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from his shoulders. She looks up at him and smiles through her tears. "I love you," she says in a quavering voice. "Go show them what you're made of. I know you can do it."

He smiles back at her. "I love you and I'll be back home before you know it." And then he kisses her, stealing away her breath and breaking her heart. She feels him pull away from her lips and struggles not to cry as he bends down and kisses her belly. "I love you," he whispers and then he's gone.

She forces her eyes open to watch Joe walk away. To whistles and catcalls from the vehicle's windows, he walks up to the bus door, turning to look at her one last time before he climbs in. She waits as the bus starts up and tries not to sob as it slowly pulls away. The other recruits' families wave as the vehicle drives out of the car park, enters the roadway and disappears in the distance.

Five minutes later, Stirling is alone in the small section of the car park where the bus loaded. Everyone else has already left. But she is still fighting back her tears, dreading her return to Portwenn and her empty house and bed. She sighs, wiping angrily at her tears.

She can feel the baby kicking strongly and her stomach clenches – she knows what's coming. It's been months since she was ill and she seriously thought the nausea and vomiting were a thing of the past. _Obviously not_, she thinks as she turns and honks up the remains of her lunch in a grassy area beside the car park.

"Just great," she mutters, trying to clear her throat of the burning feeling. She looks up at the line of establishments along the high street and sees a newsagents next door to a hair salon. She walks toward it, digging in the inside pocket of her leather jacket for her wallet. Inside the store, she grabs a bottle of water and a small packet of tissues. At the pay point, she eyes the chocolate but knows the state she's in, she needs to avoid the caffeine.

Outside, she finds a bench to sit on and relaxes, breaking open the water and rinsing out her mouth. She spits the swish water into a nearby bin, unwilling to swallow it down. She takes another big gulp before ripping open her packet of tissues in an effort to dry her tears.

A few moments later, a wavy-haired brunette pops out of the hair salon gripping a coffee mug. She looks over at the bench and sits down at the other end. The woman sips slowly from her mug while Stirling continues to wipe at her eyes and blow her nose, struggling to get her tears under control.

"Are you all right?" the woman asks, looking down the bench.

Stirling looks over and smiles through her tears. "I'll be fine. I think I'm having a hormonal moment."

"Well, we're allowed to have those. I average about one or two a month."

Stirling laughs. "You'd think once you were in this state, it would end along with your cycle," she says, pointing at her belly. "It doesn't. It just becomes one constant hormonal moment, all of the time."

"Ah, something to look forward to," the woman says.

"Are you trying to have children?" Stirling asks.

"No, not yet. I'd like to but I haven't found the right man yet."

"You definitely need access to one of those," Stirling says with a smile.

"Were you seeing someone off on the bus?" the woman asks.

"Yes, my husband. He's part of a group of police officers trying for a position with Devon and Cornwall's Special Operations Unit. He's away on training manoeuvres for the next fortnight."

"Special operations; sounds important."

"My husband, Joe, he's been trying to be part of the recruit pool for some time and, this year, he received the call."

"Congratulations," the woman says. "I'm Maggie, by the way," she adds, offering her hand down the bench.

"Stirling," she says, shaking Maggie's hand.

"Stirling. What an interesting name."

"It was my father's."

"Ah, family name. Picked some names for this one yet?" Maggie asks, pointing to Stirling's belly.

"Yes. It was a bit of a debate but we reached a decision – Mason Joseph Aylesworth Penhale. It's a bit of a mouthful."

"A boy," Maggie says, struggling to keep her emotions under control. "When are you due?"

"The end of May."

"Only a month and a bit to go," says Maggie.

"Part of me wishes it was sooner. I've almost had enough of this pregnancy," says Stirling. "In two weeks, I will have to mothball the Triumph for a while," she adds, nodding toward her motorcycle.

"You drive that?" Maggie asks.

"Not for much longer. It's not very baby-friendly. Some friends of mine have an extra car I'll be using instead." She smiles. "I'll have to get used to driving an enclosed vehicle again."

"Nice friends."

"Yes, they are," Stirling admits. "The best."

Maggie sips her coffee, bracing herself in preparation for her next series of questions. "How long have you been married?"

"Almost four months," Stirling says, laughing at Maggie's raised eyebrows. "We jumped the gun a bit," she admits, rubbing her belly. "We've known each other almost two years."

"And your husband is a police constable. What do you do?"

"I'm a doctor, a GP."

And that's when Maggie chokes on her coffee. Stirling leans forward with concern, watching the woman carefully as she coughs her way through the attack and gets her breathing back under control. "Are you all right?" she asks, handing Maggie several tissues.

"Yes, just went down the wrong way." She laughs ruefully, wiping her face with the tissues and mopping up the coffee and her tears. "I guess the best place to choke would be sitting next to a doctor."

Stirling finishes her bottle of water, tosses it in the nearby recycling receptacle and stands up with a sigh. "I better get home," she says, offering her hand. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Maggie. Take care and thanks for the company."

The two women shake hands.

"Maybe I'll see you in a fortnight," Maggie says.

"Maybe," Stirling says with a smile, giving a wave and walking away. As she strides toward the Triumph, she can feel the older woman's eyes on her back.

_Well, that was weird_, she thinks. _But interesting. I can now say I've met Joe's ex-wife. Not what I was expecting._

She removes her helmet from the handlebars and pulls it on, buckling up before she climbs on the Triumph. She kick starts the bike and lowers her goggles before rocking it off its stand. As she slowly leaves the car park, she notices several women watching her from the front window of the hair salon.

"What's she like?" Becky asks Maggie as they watch the motorcycle leave the car park and disappear down the road in the direction of Portwenn.

"She seems very nice – friendly, polite, charming, intelligent, funny, and beautiful," says Maggie, fighting to keep her voice neutral. "All with a posh accent. She's perfect. Not what I was expecting."

Becky looks confused. "And she's married to Joe; boring, unambitious Joe Penhale? Your ex-husband Joe? Who's now a sergeant? And trying out for the special operations unit?"

Not trusting herself to speak, Maggie nods her head.

"And she's up the duff? Plus a doc?"

Maggie nods again.

Becky bites her lip and looks at her friend. "I'm so sorry, Mags," she says, her eyes filled with sympathy.

"Don't feel sorry for me," the brunette says, raising her chin defiantly.

"But she's living your life," Becky says. "The life you always wanted with the handsome, successful, ambitious husband who adores you, and the sweet, chubby babies, plus the fun and excitement."

"It's not my life anymore," Maggie says, turning away from the window and grabbing a broom. "I divorced Joe years ago. She's his wife now." She methodically sweeps the floor around her work station, collecting all of the loose hair and dust into a pile. _And obviously a much better match for him than I ever was_, she thinks, blinking away a stray tear.


	44. Chapter 44

Those two weeks without Joe drag by for Stirling. During the day, she keeps busy at the surgery, seeing patients, ordering medical supplies and consulting with other doctors. During her lunch breaks, she decides to attempt to read _What To Expect When You're Expecting_ again. But before the end of the first week, and the first chapter, she throws it across the kitchen in disgust, almost hitting Alex in the head as she enters the room from the short, low hall.

"Are you okay, Doc?" the receptionist asks, bending over to retrieve the book.

"I'm sorry Alex. I wasn't aiming for you. That book is just complete rubbish. It has such a romanticized idea of childbirth, it's annoying and petrifying to read. Who on Earth would eat porridge with grated cheese on top? Stomach-churning rubbish!"

Stirling decides to read the latest obstetrical text book instead.

Her evenings and weekends are mind-numbingly dull. Watching football games on the telly is just not as enjoyable without Joe to cuddle with and tease. Instead, she's forced to watch PC Garrett and Reagan have tickle fights on the chesterfield and cheer on their favourite teams. Even so, she's thankful for the young couple's company, enjoying learning more about Reagan while teasing PC Garrett mercilessly.

"So Arthur tells me you're interested in working with children," she says to Reagan one evening as she snuggles in her favourite chair in the lounge, her feet propped on the matching ottoman.

"I am," the young woman answers from her perch on the chesterfield, pushing her straight, dark hair back from her face. "I used to work at a nursery in Cardiff. I had to quit when I came to stay with Aunt Abbey and Uncle Frank. I'd like to get a similar job around here if I could; any job actually. If not, I'll probably have to go home."

She glances at Arthur who is sitting beside her. "And I really don't want to do that."

"Well, I have an idea," Stirling says. "I know at least six women who've had babies in the past three weeks in this area. I know for sure two of them are going to be looking for a child minder. This one," she says, rubbing her stomach, "is due around the end of May. And I'm looking for a child minder to start in October. Since I moved to the police station to be with Joe, not all of the surgery is being used. I think it would make an excellent baby nursery. There's two bedrooms upstairs, a big loo, a kitchen downstairs. You could have sing-a-long with the Steinway."

She looks up at Reagan. "But can you hold out until October? I can guarantee you that job. The other two mothers you'll have to ask yourself."

She's met by a big smile. "Really? You want to hire me? To mind your baby?"

"Yes."

The dark-haired woman wraps her arms around the pregnant doctor with a laugh of joy. "That's fantastic," she cries.

Stirling blushes. "Well, I couldn't just sit here and watch the best thing that's ever happened to Arthur go home to Cardiff. Then I'd have listen to never ending stories about Juliet again. You'll be doing me a favour."

When she isn't spending time with PC Garrett and Reagan, Stirling sometimes walks the coastal trail along the cliff top. She's not as quick and nimble as she used to be but, if she goes slow, she can make it as far as Port Quinn before having to turn around. On the way back, she always stops to clean up the area around Bucephalus' cairn and place a bouquet of wild flowers. It warms her heart to see she's not the only one who leaves flowers and other gifts behind. Sometimes there's a handful of dog biscuits, other times a little dog figurine, even little notes tucked away in the rocks. Stirling never touches them; she just cleans up the dead flowers, pulls any weeds that might be creeping in too close and straightens the odd rock or two.

She enjoys her time on the cliff top, staring out at the sea, watching the waves and the sea birds, the wind messing her hair, the air tangy with the smell of salt water. The baby enjoys it too, usually kicking and punching emphatically in her belly or moving and pushing so hard, she can watch the skin on her stomach bulge out and shift with him. "Just like an Alien baby," she croons with a smile, gently rubbing her belly.

Exactly one week into Joe's training exercise, Stirling arrives back at the house to find PC Garrett in a frenzy. She'd been enjoying a long walk along the trail that afternoon, heading east out of Port Gaverne, arriving home a bit later than she had expected to.

"Where have you been?" PC Garrett asks her, his eyes wide with alarm. "We've been searching everywhere for you. And your mobile's shut off."

She digs in her pocket and pulls it out. The battery's dead. "I must have forgot to charge it," she admits with a shrug, plugging it into the charging unit on the kitchen counter. "What's gotten into you? Is there a medical emergency?" she asks, suddenly worried.

"No, no, everything's fine," assures Reagan, walking out of the lounge.

Just then, the phone rings and PC Garrett looks visibly relieved as he answers it. "Hello? Yes, yes, she's right here." He hands her the receiver with a grin.

"Hello. This is Dr. Aylesworth," she says, giving PC Garrett a strange look. She's also puzzled by the big smile on Reagan's face.

"Hello Doc?" a strange voice says. "Doc, I've been havin' this pain in me chest, just a wee bit to the left of the middle. It aches sumting awful."

"Do you have any numbness in your arms?" she asks. "Shortness of breath?"

"Nope, nope."

"Is your heart pounding so loudly you can feel it in your ears?"

"Nope but I 'ave been feelin' some throbbin' down below, if you catch me drift."

Stirling's silent for a moment, her brow lowering into a scowl. "Oh really," she says sarcastically.

"I'm wonderin' if it has anyting to do with me missin' me missus. I 'aven't seen her in a week and I'm pinin' for her sumting awful. Is there anyting you can do for me, Doc?"

"Oh my god! Joe, is that you?" she suddenly shouts, her heart leaping with excitement as she hears a familiar laugh on the other end of the line. "Oh my god! I almost hung up on you! You silly git!"

PC Garrett and Reagan are laughing as the constable grabs his girlfriend's hand and leads her upstairs, providing Stirling with some privacy.

"Sorry Cheeky," Joe says. "I couldn't resist."

"Where are you? And how did you gain access to a phone? Aren't you breaking the rules? I thought it was radio silence during this exercise?"

"Slow down," he says. "As a special reward, they've brought us to a pub in Princetown for the evening. They're allowing us to contact our families; we just can't discuss specifics of the exercise."

"Princetown? Isn't that where the prison is?"

"Yeah, I'm in a bar filled with prison guards. They're almost as rowdy as Bristol bobbies. And they sing just as badly."

Stirling laughs, her heart suddenly feeling lighter. "Did you phone earlier? Because PC Garrett looked like he'd received a tongue-lashing when I arrived home."

"I did but you weren't there and he didn't know where you were and calls weren't going through to your mobile and I became worried and I was banging on at him. Please apologize for me. But enough about that. How are you feeling, Cheeky? The little sprog isn't abusing you too much, is he?"

"No, PC Garrett is being on his best behaviour." She smiles as she hears his laugh. "The baby is doing well. Lots of activity but I can still get some sleep. I'm not too uncomfortable yet. How are you? Is the exercise going well?"

"I'm fine except I miss you like crazy. I can't wait to get home and kiss you and cuddle with you and rub that big belly of yours again."

"Just another week to go," Stirling says. "Don't fall apart now."

"Don't worry. It's going well. I have a good feeling about this."

"Aces!" she says. "I miss you, Lover Boy."

She hears some yelling and a scuffle in the background. "I have to go, Stirling," Joe says hurriedly. "There's a whole lineup of impatient constables behind me who want to use the phone. I love you, Cheeky."

"I love you, Joe." And then he is gone.

That phone call helps her get through most of the next week, which she dubs baby week as most of her moms stop by with their little ones for check-ups. It starts on the Monday with Morwenna and Albie.

"I'm not sure he's getting enough to eat," Morwenna says nervously as he's stripped down and examined.

Stirling gives her a puzzled look. "Morwenna, look at him. He's roly-poly and lovely. His folds of fat have folds of fat. He has a face like Winston Churchill. I'm tempted to suggest he's getting too much to eat but I'm not concerned about it at the moment, unless it's affecting your health. How are you feeling?"

"I'm tired but I've been following your advice and napping when he naps. It's helped a lot. I'm losing my pregnancy weight; I have a little over a stone left to go."

"The breastfeeding helps with that. How are your nipples? Any more problems?"

"Fine," Morwenna says, blushing slightly.

"No cracks, bleeding, tenderness?"

She shakes her head.

"Any pain, tenderness, or discomfort when sitting down or using the loo?"

Morwenna blushes again. "No, that's eased off."

"Are you still bleeding?"

"No, that's stopped too."

"Then you should be able to return to regular scheduled programming, unless you already have," Stirling says with a smile. Morwenna looks confused. "You can start having sex again if you wish," she rephrases.

"Oh!" Morwenna says. "Al's been hinting 'round about that and I've been interested too. But I wanted to talk to you first."

"As long as you're comfortable with the idea and not feeling any pain or discomfort in your perineum, there's nothing stopping you from having sex. I only had to put a few stitches in and the tear healed fine. But I strongly suggest you use some form of birth control – Durex, IUD, mini-Pill – unless you want to have another baby right away and then I would recommend waiting nine months to allow your body time to fully recover."

Morwenna looks horrified. "No more sprogs at the moment, thank you."

"I can easily insert an IUD right now if you'd like," Stirling offers.

"No, no, I think we're going to stick with Durex."

Louisa and Sarah visit the surgery the next day. "I think she's eating too much," Louisa says, setting her little girl on the examination couch. "She's quite pudgy."

"You're not pudgy, are you sweetheart?" Stirling says, tickling Sarah's tummy as she removes her clothing. "You're absolutely perfect!" She's rewarded with full eye contact and the slightest hint of a smile. "I see she's moving her arms and legs a lot more smoothly."

Stirling weighs and measures her and tests the baby's reflexes. "You're going to have dark hair like your mommy, aren't you?" she says, blowing a raspberry on Sarah's belly. Louisa smiles.

"How are you feeling?" Stirling asks her as she carefully starts redressing the baby girl.

Louisa sighs. "I feel great. No pain. No breastfeeding problems. She sleeps through the night. I'm getting lots of rest. James Henry adores her. Everything's wonderful."

Stirling stares at her straight-faced for a moment. "Wow, that must be just terrible for you," she says sarcastically, smiling at the same time. "If everything's so wonderful, why the big sigh and sad face?"

"Things are going too well, if you must know," Louisa admits reluctantly. "That usually means something is going to go wrong soon."

"It does not! Cynical much? Just enjoy it. I have women dragging their arses in here half dead who would be delighted to have pain-free bodies and one night of good sleep, let alone a stretch of seven every week."

Louisa flinches. "I do sound ungrateful, don't I? She is a more relaxed baby than James Henry was at one month. No late-night car drives required for this little girl. Which reminds me, I'm hoping you can suggest a form of birth control safe for use while breastfeeding. I'm looking for something a bit more spontaneous than a condom."

Stirling's not quite sure how late-night car rides segue to birth control but she's not going to ask. "I have two suggestions – a hormone infused IUD or the mini-Pill. They both rely on progestogen alone so they can be safely used while breastfeeding, although there is some anecdotal evidence that suggests milk supply can diminish slightly. I can insert the IUD today, easy peasy, and you can forget about it for the next six months or you can take a pill every day, day in, day out – your choice."

Louisa thinks for a moment. "I can take the pill and still breastfeed?"

"It's a mini-Pill – progestogen only. It's not as effective as the combined pill – about 97 to 98 per cent success rate – and it's not going to control ovulation or your menstrual cycle. It makes it harder for an ovum to be fertilised or implant in the uterus. But it has less side effects and can be taken by 'older' women. The key is, you have to take it at the same time every day or within three hours. But I would suggest sticking as close to the same time as possible."

"I'll go with the mini-Pill."

"Okay. I'll write you a prescription. Since you're not cycling or menstruating regularly, you can start taking it right away. But you won't be protected for a few weeks so use backup protection. I'd wait four weeks, just to be on the safe side."

"Easy peasy," says Louisa with a smile, giving Sarah a kiss on each cheek.

Claudie and Rowenna visit on Wednesday. "All she does is eat and cry, cry and eat, eat and cry; day in, day out; night, day. You bloody well have to help me, Doc!"

The young blonde woman sobs openly as she holds the squalling baby, with her little wrinkled brow, bright red face and tightly clutched fists.

_Colic_, Stirling instantly thinks, her heart opening in sympathy to the haggard-looking mother sitting across from her, dark circles around her eyes, blouse miss-buttoned, spit-up down her cardie. "Let me have her," she says, gently taking Rowenna and rocking her in her arms.

She examines the little one gently, ignoring her screams, pumping legs and flailing fists. She weighs and measures her, tests her reflexes, takes her temperature, looks in her ears and mouth, listens to and palpates her stomach and checks her blood pressure.

"Everything is normal. I see no signs of distress or illness. I'm fairly certain it's colic, that mysterious ailment which strikes about 25 per cent of newborn babies. Just to be on the safe side, I'll refer you to a paediatrician who can investigate further but the answer will probably be the same."

"Colic," says Claudie. "And there's nothing you can do?"

Stirling sadly shakes her head. "Just hold her, comfort her and love her when you can. When you can't, have someone else do it. Is there anyone who can help you out during the day?"

"Me mum and sister live nearby. They can probably help out from time to time."

"That's good because you need to be getting more rest. Is your husband helping at night?"

"He tries but he has to get up early for work. We rely on the money he earns."

Stirling nods her head. "For now, start by getting some help from your mum and sister. Later, when you feel up to it, try joining one of the mum and baby groups in the area or a story time or play group or whatever. Get out of the house, introduce her to new experiences, new stimulation, other babies. It can help. And you can meet other mums who might be having the same problem. How are you handling the stress?"

Claudie's face crumples and she bursts into tears. "I'm not," she wails. "I'm a terrible mother! Sometimes I just want to walk away from her and never come back! You should call the NSPCC on me!"

"Come with me," Stirling says to Claudie, carefully holding Rowenna as she opens the consulting room door and walks out into the narrow hall. She walks through into the kitchen and opens the back door, letting Claudie through first. She closes the door behind her and they stand in the paved back garden, facing the steep grass hill the surgery property backs onto.

The young mother gives Stirling a puzzled look. "What are we doing out here?" she asks uncertainly.

"Therapy," the doctor says. "Here's the scenario: You're tired. You're cranky. You're miserable. You've had enough of this breastfeeding and diaper changing cack. Your baby keeps crying. She just won't shut up. What do you do?"

Claudie stares at her, her eyes wide with uncertainty. "I don't know. That's why I've come to see you."

"What have you been doing up to now?"

"I hold her. I rock her. I take her out in the pram. That works for about half-an-hour and then she starts up again. I feed her. I change her. I rock her some more. I run the vacuum cleaner. I put her in her car seat. I sing. I try the radio. I read her a story. I try feeding her again. I rock her in the pram. Eventually, I just put her in her cot and pass out from exhaustion."

"Okay. You're obviously seeing to her needs. What do you do when you get frustrated and angry?"

"I try not to?"

"You're a human being, Claudie, not a saint. What do you do when you get angry?"

"I set her in the cot and count to 100."

"Not a bad coping strategy. Does it always work?"

"No."

Stirling nods her head, thinking. "Here's what I'm going to suggest. The next time you feel you've reached rock bottom and you can't take anymore, put Rowenna in her cot or another safe place, go into your back garden and scream."

Claudie looks at her like she's lost her mind. "You want me to do wot?"

"I want you to put Rowenna in a safe place, like her cot or her pram, walk out to your back garden and scream and yell your head off. Try it."

"But I've got neighbours!"

"So do I. Are they never loud? Their kids or grandchildren are never screaming and running around like little lunatics? They never play their horrible Cornish folk songs too loud? They never have a few friends over, get pissed and sing rude rugby songs at half one in the morning?"

Claudie fights back a smile. "Sometimes."

"Here's some payback. And if they have a real problem with it, they can watch Rowenna for a few hours while you have a rest, see how relaxing they find it. Okay, give it a try."

Stirling steps back, continuing to gently rock screaming Rowenna. Claudie looks at her uncertainly.

"There must be something in there, some frustration that needs to come out. Let it rip."

"I can't."

"Here, I'll show you," Stirling says, carefully transferring Rowenna back into her mother's arms. She relaxes her shoulders and squarely faces the steep hill rising up above the back garden. She does a few neck circles and clears her throat, letting her arms fall loosely to her side. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

"AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! You're a bleedin' wanker with a tosser brother and a slapper for a mother!" She listens with a smile as her scream echoes eerily off the hill. _Aces_, she thinks.

She smiles back at Claudie who is staring at her in open-mouthed disbelief. "Give it a try. It's very therapeutic and liberating. Just scream out the first thing that comes to mind."

Claudie hands Rowenna back to Stirling and faces the green hill. She takes a deep breath. "I don't want to clean the bloody, god-damn loo, you fucking wanker!" she screams.

"Brilliant!" says Stirling. "And again."

"You can take your bleedin' religious pamphlets and shove them up your fuckin' arse, you good-for-nothing willy-licker!"

Claudie starts laughing, bending over at the waist and holding her stomach as the giggles overpower her.

"How do you feel?" Stirling asks.

"I feel amazing!" the young mother says, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. "I had this heavy weight of worry and tension massing in my belly. And now it's gone!"

Suddenly the back door opens and Alex is standing there, her eyes wide with alarm. "Are you both okay?" she asks, concerned.

"We're wonderful," Stirling says with a smile. "Aren't we Claudie?"

"Amazing," the blonde says, laughing some more.

"Well, everyone in the waiting room thought they heard screaming coming from back here and we were concerned."

"Everything's fine, isn't it Rowenna," she says, lightly bouncing the little girl in her arms, earning a short reprieve from the squalling.

Back in the consulting room, she suggests some other coping strategies for Claudie. "And if you just can't handle it anymore and have no one or nowhere to turn to, just call the surgery. We'll help you as best we can."

"Thanks, Doc Stirling."

Later that afternoon, a few hours after lunch, Stirling is surprised to walk out of the consulting room and see PC Garrett chatting with Alex in the waiting room.

"Doc, PC Garrett's come to speak with you," the receptionist says, jerking her head and winking.

Stirling gives her a puzzled glance. "Come on back PC Garrett. I'll be with you momentarily Mr. Ashton." She leads the constable through to the consulting room, shuts the door and sits down at her desk, pointing him to a chair.

"How can I help you Arthur?"

He looks embarrassed as he fumbles with his black notebook. "I received a report from someone who lives just up the hill about screaming, cussing and excessive noise coming from the area of the surgery this morning."

"Yes," Stirling affirms.

PC Garrett pauses, uncertain. "So you're agreeing the noise came from here?"

"Of course it came from here," she says with a smile. "It was part of a therapy program I was trying with a patient."

"Part of a therapy program?"

"Yes. Scream therapy. It was a big thing in the 1970s. A bit of a silly fad but very helpful for channelling tension and stress. I had a patient who needed a release outlet and it seemed a good fit. So we did some screaming."

PC Garrett looks at her with arched eyebrows. "Doc, you can't just have patients screaming in the back garden of the surgery."

"I usually don't but this was a special case."

"A special case?"

"Have you ever experienced a colicky baby?"

"No I can't say I have," he says uncertainly, not sure where she's going with this.

"Well, it's an extremely frustrating and aggravating experience, especially since there's nothing that can really be done to help the little ones. They basically have to outgrow it. Now imagine you're with that crying baby, caring for him or her day in and day out."

PC Garrett nods his head, flinching at the thought.

"Everything you do to soothe your baby either doesn't work or only works for a short span of time. You're exhausted because you can't get any sleep, your nerves are frayed from the crying, your self-esteem is low because you feel like a failure as a parent, you feel like you're losing your mind."

He looks at her, still nodding.

"What would you rather deal with, Arthur? A noise complaint about a bit of harmless screaming and yelling or a baby seriously injured or dead because of shaken baby syndrome?"

PC Garrett narrows his eyes and looks at her suspiciously. "Are you suggesting there's a baby at risk in the village?"

"No," she says firmly. "If there was, I'd be reporting it to the NSPCC or you, as is my duty under the law. What I am suggesting is I have a patient who needs a bit of help dealing with stress and I provided it. And if the complainant up the hill doesn't like it, I can supply them with ear plugs or they can volunteer some time babysitting."

He stares at her for several moments, surprised by her vehemence. "Okay," he says uncertainly.

"Thanks for stopping by Arthur," Stirling says, standing up and opening the consulting room door. "I have to get back to my patients."

He stands up and slowly walks out the door, confused. "Doc, I really need to talk to you about the noise," he says.

"I thought we just did that Arthur," she says, cocking her head slightly to the side. "Mr. Ashton, please come back," she calls.

"Doc," PC Garrett says as an elderly man brushes past him and enters the consulting room. "Doc – "

"Have a good afternoon, PC Garrett," Stirling says, shutting the door in his face.

The young constable stands there for a moment before turning and walking into the waiting room. Everyone is staring at him. "I'll have to talk to her about this later," he mutters, scribbling something in his notebook before walking out the door.

Alex chuckles quietly to herself.


	45. Chapter 45

The weekend finally comes, clear skied, warm and sunny. Stirling is in an incredibly good mood as she tends to her Saturday morning surgery patients.

She is looking forward to seeing Joe again, kissing him, touching him, running her fingers through his short-cropped hair, feeling him lying next to her in bed. One thing the past fortnight has taught her is she has lost the ability to sleep by herself, needing numerous pillows to snuggle against in order to finally drift off.

She is grinning like an idiot as her last patient walks out the door and she locks the door behind him. Running through her usual after-surgery Saturday routine, she hums Beethoven as she practically skips from the waiting room to the consulting room and back again, organizing her doctor's bag and preparing the surgery for the next week's patients.

When she's finished her regular routine, she checks her watch. She still has another 90 minutes before she needs to leave for Bude. Stirling walks into the piano room and removes the dust cover from the baby grand. She misses having her Steinway conveniently at home. The boys had told her they'd found an upright that would fit in the lounge of the station house. But it still wasn't expected to be delivered for several more weeks.

As she sits at the Steinway, she closes her eyes and lets her mind and hands drift, gently working through several scales and exercises to warm up her stiff fingers. Eventually she moves on to more complicated pieces and finds herself playing the opening bars to _The Power of Love_ by Frankie Goes To Hollywood. She sings along as she pounds out the notes, shaking the front windows.

Stirling plays for almost an hour, the baby kicking and moving the entire time. _He must be stimulated by the music_, she thinks with a smile as she shuts the keyboard cover and throws the dust sheet back over the piano.

She hums joyfully all the way home, coming to a standstill a she stares in disbelief at the vehicle sitting in front of the station. It's the Citroen. She looks around but can see no one.

"Arthur!" she shouts as she walks in the front door. She hears an answering shout from the station side of the building and peeks her head around the connecting door.

"Do you know anything about that car out front?"

"Hey Doc," he says, wandering out of the office. "This bloke dropped it off about nine this morning, gave me the keys and this envelope, waited outside for about five minutes before a cab picked him up and drove away. He said you'd know all about it."

"I knew about the car but had no idea it was arriving today," she says as he hands her the keys and a thick envelope. "Damn."

_What am I going to say to Joe? Maybe he'll be so excited to be home he won't notice it._

She sighs. "I'm leaving in about half an hour to pick up Joe. Have there been any calls?"

"Nothing," says PC Garrett. "It's been a quiet morning."

_Good_, she thinks, shutting the door and walking upstairs to the loo. She has a quick shower and then braids her wet hair. In the bedroom, she stands in front of her wardrobe, staring at its contents with a scowl. She eventually settles on a khaki-coloured pair of stretchy pull-on pants that support her belly and a dressy, low-cut blouse. "Nice cleavage, Doc," she mutters to herself as she looks in the mirror.

Stirling sits on the edge of the bed and pulls on her tall biker boots. _I'll miss wearing these_, she thinks as she touches the leather ties on each side. They had been a gift from Emily and Robert when she left for university, ordered from the same company that supplied boots to the motorcycle police officers across most of the UK.

She sighs as she stands up and looks at herself one last time in the mirror before clomping down the stairs. She checks her watch and feels a flare of excitement in her stomach. _Time to go_.

She pulls on her leather coat, doing up the top two buttons, and grabs the helmets and Joe's jacket before walking out the door. She packs his equipment in the Triumph's saddle bags before pulling on her helmet and carefully lifting her leg over the seat. She settles onto the bike with a sigh, situating herself comfortably before lowering her goggles and kicking the bike to life.

The baby kicks and shifts inside her and she gently rubs her stomach, surprised by the flash of pain to her ribs. She suddenly feels another pain, lower down in her pelvis, that makes her gasp. It flares again and she feels tears stinging at her eyes. _Pelvic floor pain_, she thinks. _That bloody well hurts_.

She sits for a moment but the pain doesn't return. _Thank god!_ She slowly backs the bike off its kickstand and carefully pulls out of the car park on her way toward Bude.

The trip seems to take forever but 20 minutes later, she drives into the town, pulling into the downtown car park where she had dropped Joe off a fortnight ago. It feels like two years have passed, she thinks. Some of the other officers' family members have already arrived and are waiting as well.

Stirling parks the Triumph and shuts it down, lifting up her goggles and carefully stepping down from the bike. She pulls off her helmet, adjusting her braid as she unsnaps her jacket and sets it with her helmet on the bike's seat. _It's too hot to stand around wearing black leather_, she decides as she straightens her blouse. She leans against the Triumph to wait.

* * *

Maggie watches Stirling arrive from the salon window. She has been waiting all day to hear the sound of the motorcycle and happens to be between clients when it roars in.

"Is she here?" Becky asks, standing up from her work station. She's also enjoying a break after the usual Saturday morning madness of wedding and hen party preparations.

The pair watch out the window as Stirling parks the bike and dismounts, removing her helmet and jacket before fussing with her blouse. _Her stomach seems larger than it did two weeks ago_, Maggie thinks.

"Her belly is stonking!" Becky says, voicing exactly what her friend is thinking. "I can't believe she can operate that motorcycle."

They turn back to straighten and clean the salon after the morning and early afternoon rush. About five minutes later, they are back at the window as the bus pulls into the car park.

As she watches it pull over to the area near the waiting family members, Maggie reaches a decision. Without a word, she opens the salon door and walks out, heading toward the meeting area.

"Mags, what are you doing?" Becky calls out after her.

Maggie doesn't look back as she continues walking across the car park. She slows her pace as she gets closer, watching the bus door open and black dressed police officers disembark from the vehicle, stopping to grab their bags from the storage area underneath. She's about 10 metres away when Joe steps off the vehicle. Her heartbeat quickens.

"Joe!" she calls as he bends down to grab his duffel.

He lifts his head to look toward her and she flinches as he loudly bangs it on the lifted door to the storage area. He grabs his head in pain, his other hand still gripping his bag as he stumbles backwards. He turns toward her again, rubbing the sore spot on his head, an excited and expectant smile on his face. His expression changes to puzzled surprise when he recognizes her. "Maggie?"

She smiles and gives him a small wave. "Hi Joe."

He silently stares at her for several moments, his face emotionless as he continues rubbing his skull, and she feels a flare of excitement in her stomach. _He still has feelings for me_, she thinks wildly.

"Joe?" a voice says from behind him and he turns, immediately dropping his bag and striding toward the source. Maggie watches, her stomach plummeting with disappointment, as he grabs Stirling and lifts her, spinning her around once before kissing her so passionately, several police constables stop what they are doing to watch the pair. She nods her head and gives a half smile before turning and slowly walking back toward the salon.

"Oh Cheeky, I missed you so much," Joe says, kissing Stirling over and over again, his hands pulling her strongly against his body. She laughs and cries at the same time, basking in his ardent attention. "I missed you too, Lover Boy," she whispers in his ear, her fingers buried in the hair at the back of his head. She feels the rising goose egg and looks up at his face.

"Are you okay?" she asks with concern, pulling down on his neck so he stumbles forward. She parts his hair to look more closely at the swelled area. "That's going to be a hell of a bump," she says. "We're going to need some ice."

She's about to walk toward the nearby store when she feels him grab her arm and yank her back against him. "Forget about my head for a minute," he growls in her ear as he presses her against him again. His lips seize hers and she melts against him, all thoughts of contusions and ice leaving her mind as she thrills under his touch, her arms moving around his body to press him closer against her. She can vaguely hear the sound of whistles and catcalls from around them but she doesn't care. "Get a room!" someone yells.

Eventually they both come up for air, breathing heavily as they look in each others eyes. "I've been wanting to do that for a fortnight," Joe pants.

"I've been wanting you to do that for a fortnight," she gasps, rubbing her hands down his arms. "Where's your duffel?"

Joe looks confused for a moment and then remembers. "I dropped it when I heard you call my name," he says, turning to retrieve it from near the bus. She watches him trot over and grab his bag, looking over toward the salon for a moment before shaking hands with Sergeant Thomas. The Sergeant looks over at Stirling and gives her a wave before slapping Joe on the back and walking away.

"So how do you feel the exercise went?" she asks when he walks up with his luggage.

"Really, really well," he says, pulling his helmet and jacket out of the Triumph's saddle bags before grabbing a pair of tie-downs and securing his bag to the back of the bike. He looks over his shoulder again back at the salon.

"The weirdest thing happened when I came off the bus," he says, turning to Stirling. "I was grabbing my duffel from the storage compartment when I heard someone call my name. I was so excited; I thought it was you. I lifted my head and banged it on the lift door, which hurt like hell," he recalls, rubbing his goose egg. "And when I looked up, I saw Maggie."

She nods her head, touching his bristly cheek tenderly. "That doesn't surprise me. She works in that salon right over there."

"Well that explains it. At first, I thought I was seeing things after hitting my head." He looks toward the building. "I thought this place looked familiar. I noticed it before we left. It's changed but not much." He turns back to Stirling, a curious look on his face. "How do you know Maggie works in that salon?"

"We ran into each other the afternoon I dropped you off," she says, watching the expression on his face turn to one of surprise. "We had a nice little chat, both of us knowing who the other person was but not wanting to let on that we did. It was rather surreal and very interesting."

"You two talked? You and Maggie talked?"

Stirling nods her head, trying not to laugh at his shocked expression. "We had a long discussion about your career, the baby, our wedding, my career, and how she'd still like to have children but hasn't found the right man."

Joe is speechless. He's not quite sure what to say, still trying to wrap his mind around the fact his wife and ex-wife had met and discussed having babies.

"Did you want to talk with her?" she asks, curious. "I'm sure she'd like that considering she made the effort to come out and see you."

With those words, he suddenly comes to life again, moving forward and lifting her up against his body, encouraging her to wrap her boot-clad legs around him as he holds her bum. "No," he says fiercely. "I want to go home with my beautiful wife, cuddle on the chesterfield, caress that beautiful big belly, feel my son moving under my hands, and relax."

Stirling smiles and kisses him gently. "Sounds wonderful," she whispers. "But I get to drive."

"Deal," he says, gently setting her down and reaching for his jacket and helmet.

She grabs her kit and quickly puts it on, throwing her leg over the Triumph and starting it with a roar. Joe quickly slides on behind her, planting a kiss on her neck that makes her laugh. He places his hands rather intimately on her thighs, his fingers curling around into her sensitive inner leg area.

She leans back against his chest. "You keep that up, we won't make it home right away," she yells in his ear over the roar of the bike.

"Sounds interesting," he yells back, shifting his fingers higher, smiling as the expression on her face changes to one of surprise and then sexual wanting.

She reaches an arm back and grabs the back of his neck, pulling him forward as she turns her head. She kisses him passionately, revving the bike at the same time. He laughs against her lips, imagining the spectacle they're making of themselves as everyone in the car park stares at them. As he pushes hard against Stirling's lips, massaging her inner thighs, he realizes he really couldn't care less what anyone else thinks of them at that moment. He wants his wife.

He gently pulls his lips away from hers and leans his mouth against her ear. "We better leave now," he says, "before I rip your clothes off right here."

She leans forward with a grin, rocking the Triumph off its stand before giving the bike some gas. They slowly move forward, negotiating their way around several vehicles before reaching a clear lane to the exit. With a satisfying roar, the bike turns onto the street and quickly disappears in the direction of Portwenn.

* * *

Becky turns from the window and watches her friend chat with her current client, who has just removed his black peaked cap with Gibbons embroidered on the back.

When Maggie returned to the salon, she had said nothing, immediately sitting down at her station and organizing her tools. Nothing Becky said could make her speak. Maggie's eyes had briefly lit up when the black-clad police officer had walked through the door, but immediately dimmed when she realized it wasn't who she was hoping to see. But she had volunteered to cut the constable's hair anyway.

Now Becky watches as the pair chat away like old friends. Despite the roaring noise from outside, Maggie hadn't once turned to look out the front window, even when the motorcycle raced by before turning onto the street and disappearing from sight. Suddenly, she only has eyes for PC Gibbons.


	46. Chapter 46

Stirling's right – they don't make it back to Portwenn right away. Driven almost to distraction by Joe's teasing hands, she's forced to pull off the A39 onto a B road and finally pulled over altogether, laughing as she slid off the Triumph, almost falling in the shallow ditch beside the road.

"Keep your hands off me," she giggled uncontrollably, backing away from Joe into the adjacent hayfield. "Stop!" she laughed as he approached her, hands out, fingers wiggling. "You're going to make me wee in my pants!"

She wasn't able to put up much of a fight and soon found herself being gently lowered to the ground, still laughing hysterically.

Now she's asleep, sprawled across Joe's lap as he leans against the trunk of a tree along the edge of the field. The sun is sinking in the sky behind him and he watches as the tree's shadow lengthens across the field.

Stirling shifts in his arms, tightening her fingers as she grips his T-shirt in her sleep. After she stills, he adjusts her leather jacket so it covers most of her body again.

_God, I've missed her_. Two weeks had been a long time to be away, especially from her. Talking on the telephone the previous weekend had been just what he needed to make it through the following week. Without hearing her voice, he's not sure how he would have handled the last six days. He feels good about his performance during the entire exercise. But he still wonders if he'd have done as well if he'd never met Stirling. Or if he would have even earned the opportunity.

Joe's been spending a lot of time lately wondering what his life would be like if he'd never visited Sam for that weekend in Bristol, or if he never brought up Dr. Ellingham in his conversation with that hotty singer, or if Stirling had never kissed him, or is she had decided not to visit Portwenn for an interview with the Doc.

He's fairly certain without her, he would never have become a sergeant. Or learned how to operate a motorcycle. Or know even a fraction of the people he's now acquainted with on the Devon and Cornwall force. He and his mother would probably still be avoiding one another. And the Doc would be continuing to call him Penhale with a certain amount of disdain.

One chance meeting, that's all it took, and his life had changed overwhelmingly for the better. _It hasn't been perfect and there's been lots of pain and tears between the parts that are. But lying here under this tree is the closest thing to perfect I've had in a long time._

Joe leans over and kisses the top of her head, smelling her strawberry shampoo and the dried sweat from her helmet. _Even that smells wonderful and sexy on Stirling._ He holds her closer against his body. She smiles and opens her eyes slowly, looking up at him.

"Hello, Lover Boy," she says softly. "I was just having an amazing dream about you. We were naked in a hayfield making love and you kept whispering in my ear how much you loved and missed me. It was beautiful," she adds, stretching.

"It wasn't a dream," he says, his breath tickling against her ear.

She looks around, smiling. "You're right. I'm naked in my husband's arms in a hayfield."

She hums contentedly. Suddenly, she startles. "What time is it?" she demands, scrambling to look at her watch.

"Relax," he whispers in her ear just as his mobile rings.

"Sergeant Penhale, 3021."

He pauses.

"Arthur, slow down. She's fine. She's here with me. We've just been delayed getting back to the station. We should be there in the next 20 minutes. Is there an emergency? Trouble at the surgery?"

He pauses again.

"Good. We'll see you in about 20 minutes."

Joe clicks off his mobile. "Relaxation times over, Cheeky," he says, shifting out from under her and grabbing his boxers and black fatigue pants. "PC Garrett's officially freaking out that we're not back at the station yet."

Stirling stretches and yawns before gathering together her own kit, slowly pulling each item on. She has a bit of trouble with her motorcycle boots, hindered by her ponderous stomach. He helps her slide them on.

"This doesn't seem possible but I think your belly has popped out even more while I was away," he says, helping her to her feet. He gently strokes her stomach, reaching under her blouse to touch her bare skin. "And this," he says, flapping her low-cut front collar, "this should be illegal. It's entirely too distracting and a danger to public safety."

Stirling laughs as they walk hand-in-hand back to the Triumph. The sun has sunk very low in the sky but she's certain she has enough daylight to get back to Portwenn before full darkness sets in.

She's about to climb on the motorcycle when she remembers – the Citroen.

"I need to tell you something," she says, turning to Joe.

"What?" He cocks his head slightly to the side with curiosity.

She takes a deep breath. "The Citroen was delivered this morning."

She scrunches close her eyes in preparation for his response but her announcement is met by silence. She opens one eye a crack and looks at Joe. He stands in front of her calm and quietly.

"Good. It's about time. Leyland called me the Friday before I left to let me know the car was ready. I told him to hire a driver to deliver it."

Stirling stares at him wide-eyed. "You knew it was being delivered?"

He nods his head, smiling.

"And you're okay with me driving it?"

He nods his head again, his grin growing.

She flashes him that big, wide smile and throws her arms around him. "Oh my god! What a relief! I was so worried you were going to be angry. And I didn't want to fight about the stupid Citroen again."

She moves back from his body and cups his face in her hands. "I love you so much. And I missed you so much." She kisses him repeatedly until he grabs her and pulls her close.

"I love you too, Cheeky," he whispers in her ear. "Let's go home."

* * *

Stirling has a lie in the next morning, opening her eyes to the sound of laughter from downstairs. The bed beside her is cold and empty. She quickly dresses in some comfortable clothing and walks into the loo to brush her hair, clean her teeth and give her face a good scrub. She flinches at her appearance in the mirror, her eyes surrounded by dark circles, her blouse resembling a large, lumpy burlap sack. About the only attractive element she can see is her glowing, shiny, healthy hair. Plus she is producing the most amazing sets of fingernails she's ever seen, the rapid growth forcing her to clip them one or two times per week.

With her shimmering, curly auburn hair tied back in a pony tail, Stirling slowly walks downstairs, her feet stinging with every step. Her lower back also throbs. _This pregnancy gig sucks!_

She's surprised to find PC Garrett and Reagan engaged in hand-to-hand combat in the kitchen. Armed with a pair of tongs and a fork, the pair appear to be battling it out for a lone piece of bacon, attractively displayed on a small plate in the middle of the kitchen table. They are so busy pushing, shoving, snapping and giggling, they fail to notice Stirling, who picks up the bacon and takes a big bite. She closes her eyes and enjoys the taste of the greasy wonderfulness on her tongue, quickly stuffing the rest of the crispy piece in her mouth.

Silence descends over the room.

She opens her eyes to find the couple staring at her in shocked disbelief.

"You – you ate our bacon!" PC Garrett whines plaintively.

"Actually, I just helped settle a violent argument that looked like it was well on its way to ending in someone getting hurt," she answers, licking the grease from her fingers. "I'm really not interested in dealing with an unfortunate fork stabbing injury on my one day off this week."

They both glower at her.

"Do you know where Joe is hiding?"

"He's out front," PC Garrett says, clanging the now empty plate into the sink with a sigh of disgust. With a snap of the tongs, Reagan pinches his arse. By the time Stirling walks out the front door, the utensil fight is back on, complete with wild giggling, a quickly seized whisk and empty threats.

She easily spots Joe across the road, sitting on one of the park benches that face the beach. He's dressed in civilian clothes, reading a book while devouring a vanilla ice cream cone. Stirling's mind instantly fixates on the idea of bacon-flavoured ice cream, her stomach grumbling with approval.

"Hey, Lover Boy," she says softly, leaning over the back of the bench to kiss him on the cheek. "Whatcha readin'?"

He folds the cover back so she can read it – _What To Expect When You're Expecting_. She groans, sitting down beside him with a thump. "You're still reading that cack? I can recommend a more factual and realistic book if you're really interested in the fascinating world of pregnancy and child birth."

"I'm enjoying this one," Joe says, crunching on his cone. "I want to find out how it ends."

Stirling laughs, leaning her head into his chest.

"Oy, watch my ice cream!" he says, lifting his cone-filled left hand out of the way. "You almost got your locks in it!"

"I did? I'm sorry," she says apologetically, reaching up and pulling down his arm. She takes a big bite from the cone, resulting in a frozen mouthful of sweetness and a dollop of vanilla ice cream on her nose. "That should help get it out of the way."

He grunts in outrage, wrestling to get the cone out of her grip. He shoves half of what is left in his mouth, making her gasp.

"I want some, you pig!"

She leans forward quickly, snagging another yummy bite before Joe shoves the rest in his mouth. She watches in amazement as he manages to chew and swallow it down without choking. A few moments later, he's massaging his skull and moaning.

"Ice cream headache!" he gasps.

Stirling almost laughs but instantly feels sympathy for his plight. "Push your tongue flat against the roof of your mouth," she orders. "Lit 'is!" she adds, pointing and opening her mouth wide to show him.

A dozen seconds later, the pain is under control. "That's what you get for not sharing!" she teases, giving him a playful shove on the shoulder.

He leans over and licks the ice cream off her nose. "If you wanted a cone, all you had to do is ask," he mutters. "I would have went and bloody well bought you one."

"Really?"

"Really. Want one?"

"No, I'm fine now," she says with a yawn, snuggling against Joe's right shoulder.

"Have a lie down if you want," he says, shifting over to give her more room. "Just put your head on my lap and relax."

She gives him an unconvinced look but lowers her head after he pats his upper thigh welcomingly. She rolls onto her left side, wiggling her head back and forth as she works to get comfortable.

"Okay?"

"Wonderful," she murmurs, shutting her eyes in bliss.

Joe picks up his book and flips through to the last page he was on.

Stirling is soon snoring softly.

Various people walk by over the course of the late morning and early afternoon, charmed by the sight of the couple relaxing on the bench together – Stirling curled up and asleep, her large belly rising like a small mountain; Joe completely engrossed in the book he's reading, absently petting her hair and shoulder.

"Look, Bert! They are so adorable," Jenny whispers as she and her husband wheel their new little grandson, Albie, in the family's old pram.

Bert grunts as he reads the title of the book. "That one needs all the knowledge he can shove in his puny head," he mutters, blushing slightly under Jenny's answering glare.

Joe never looks up.

The Doc and family walk by a little later, Louisa pushing Sarah in their pram and James Henry skipping along, trying his best to keep up with his father's long strides.

"I see you're studying up, Joe," Louisa whispers. "Good for you!"

The Doc stares down at Stirling, a slight frown on his face. "She looks tired," he barks.

"Shhhh!" both Joe and Louisa hiss at the same time, glancing with concern at the sleeping pregnant woman. She doesn't stir.

The Doc looks somewhat chastised. "Is she getting enough sleep?" he asks in an attempt at a quieter voice.

Joe looks at him with some concern. "She was tossing and turning quite a bit last night, muttering and talking in her sleep. She did mention she had problems sleeping while I was away. I think the baby moving and kicking wakes her up sometimes."

The Doc's frown deepens. "She needs her rest," he says. "And you need to make sure she gets it."

With those words, he turns and continues his walk down the trail, James Henry scampering after him.

"I imagine getting Stirling to do anything she doesn't want to do – such as get extra rest – can be very difficult," Louisa says to Joe, glancing briefly at her husband's rapidly disappearing back. "If you need any help, just give me a ring."

She has to jog down the path with the pram to catch up with her two men.

Claudie and Tom Bishope walk by about 30 minutes later with little Rowenna, who is sleeping quietly.

"Looks like your missus is tired, Joe," Tom says, gently bouncing his baby girl up and down in the front carrier he is wearing. "Hard working woman, she is. Helped my Claudie with the birthin' and then helped with the wee one's colicin'. Couple days of screamin' and the neighbour ladies was helpin' out, givin' Claudie a chance to catch up her sleep. Missuses need their rest, Joe; take it from me. You don't want to be around 'em when they don't."

A short time later, Joe's thinking about rousing Stiring and heading inside for a late lunch when he notices an expensive-model Jaguar pull into the car park in front of the police station. He watches with interest as a well-dressed man climbs out and knocks on the front door. At the same time, a woman and two children jump out of the car, scampering across the road to the beach.

PC Garrett answers the door and chats with the man for a few moments, eventually pointing across the road toward the bench. Joe has already turned back to his book when the man approaches. He looks up as he realizes the man has stopped in front of him, and is surprised to find the stranger staring in amazement at Stirling.

"Can I help you?" Joe asks, placing a protective hand on his sleeping wife's belly.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm staring, aren't I?" the man says in a posh, upper-crust London accent. "I don't mean to be rude but I haven't seen Stirling in years and I just didn't expect – I mean, I expected it but – it's still a surprise. I mean, she's so pregnant-looking!"

"And you are?"

"Dr. Brian Stillwell. I'm covering the surgery for Stirling while she's off."

He offers his hand, which Joe shakes.

"Sergeant Joseph Penhale. You can call me Joe."

"Ah, the one and only Sergeant Penhale. Christy and Michael have told me a lot about you. The man who won Panda Bear's heart. Panda bear my arse – more like Grizzly bear!"

"I heard that, Stirredwell," Stirling mutters, causing the man to laugh.

"No one's called me that in years."

"At least not to your face," she quips, slowly rising and stretching. She has a long yawn. "Thanks for interrupting my rest. I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow."

"The family and I thought we'd come up a day early, see the place, decide what we need that isn't already being delivered. We had a lovely drive down."

"I'm glad to hear it," Stirling says, finally standing up and giving him a big hug and kiss on the cheek.

"I can't believe how big you are!" Brian says, looking down at her stomach. "Stirling Silver, pregnant! I'd never have believed it if I wasn't seeing it!"

She frowns slightly, a hint of uneasiness in her eyes. "No one's called me that in years," she says softly. "I'm not that person anymore."

Brian instantly looks embarrassed, his eyes shifting down to the ground. "I'm sorry, Stirling. You're right. I didn't mean ..."

His voice trails off. There's an awkward silence for a moment. Joe watches with interest.

"Where's Katherine? And the little ones?" she suddenly asks, shifting to look toward his car. As she turns, she spots the figures jumping and dancing in the water just down the beach. "Kit-Kat!" she shouts, waving her arms toward the tallest one of the group.

"Stirling!" the petite red-head shouts back, herding her two little charges toward them.

The two women hug, the smaller one then stepping back to look at her friend's round belly. She reaches out tentatively and touches it. "You look beautiful!"

"I look like an M&amp;M with arms and legs," Stirling responds with a scowl.

Katherine laughs. "You're impossible!"

She introduces her two little children, who shyly hide behind their mother's legs. "This is Benjamin but we call him Benji," Katherine says, petting the head of a red-headed little boy with green eyes, who looks to be about four. "And this is Elsie," she adds, lifting up a little curly-haired, red-headed girl, who looks to be about three. She also has stunning green eyes.

"The last time I saw you, Benji, you were a tiny little baby," Stirling says, shaking the little boy's hand formally. "And now I see you're almost ready to leave home and get a job."

The little boy giggles. His sister echoes him.

"Aren't you a cutie?" Stirling says, tickling Elsie under the chin, making her squeal with laughter.

Joe laughs at his wife's antics, which reminds her to introduce him to Katherine.

With the formalities out of the way, the small group troops across the road to the police station house. After picking up her spare set of keys, Stirling accompanies the Stillwells up to the surgery and helps them settle in, showing them around the premises.

About an hour later, she walks slowly through the front door of her own home. Joe looks up from the kitchen counter, where he has just finished preparing a plate-full of sandwiches for lunch. He's concerned with the exhaustion he can see etched on Stirling's face.

"Are they all settled in?"

"Yes," she says with a sigh, settling into the kitchen chair he pulls out for her. "And so begins the transfer of responsibility. And the end of my usefulness."

He looks at her sharply as he sets the plate of sandwiches in the centre of the table. "That sounds a bit melodramatic, don't you think?"

She leans forward, cradling her head in her arms. "I know, I know. I'm suddenly feeling very conflicted. I like what I do. I enjoy seeing and caring for my patients. What happens if it doesn't work out with Brian? What happens if the village doesn't accept him?"

Joe sits down, puts two sandwiches on a plate and hands it to her. "Have a sarni and stop worrying. You can't be a doctor and have a baby at the same time. At least, not for the first few months. You haven't even had the sprog yet and you look exhausted. Eat some lunch and then I think you should go back to bed."

"Back to bed? I just spent several hours sleeping on a park bench."

"And it shows! You need to catch up on your rest. Even the Doc was commenting on how tried you look."

"The Doc?"

"He, Louiser and the little ones walked by earlier this afternoon while you were sleeping. He was very concerned with your appearance."

"My appearance?"

"He said you looked tired and that I needed to make sure you rested more."

Stirling sighs and takes a bite of her sandwich. "It's not even worth arguing about. You win. I'll have a rest."

Joe frowns as he watches her chew slowly. _That was too easy. Where was the fight? Where was the spunk? She's obviously not feeling like herself._

After she finishes her lunch, he escorts her upstairs to bed and helps her settle under the duvet.

"You're fussing, Lover Boy," she warns, hugging a body pillow against her belly as she wrestles to find a comfortable position.

Joe sits up in the bed next to her, a pillow behind his back, reading his book.

Stirling tosses and turns for several minutes, struggling to get comfortable. As she does so, the mattress bucks and shakes.

"I'm getting sea sick, Cheeky. Are you almost finished?"

"Don't provoke me, Joseph Penhale. You push me too far, I promise I will devote the rest of my life to discovering a way for men to carry and give birth to babies."

She eventually finds a comfortable position and sighs with contentment. But five minutes later, she is still awake.

"When do you have your interview?" she asks.

"Wednesday in Exeter at main headquarters. I'll probably be gone for the whole day."

"Oh. Are you nervous?"

Joe glances over at her with a slight frown. "I wasn't until you asked."

"Sorry. Don't worry; you'll do great. Just try to stay relaxed. You know how you get when you become nervous and you start talking."

His frown deepens. "Now you're making me even more nervous."

"Okay, I'll be quiet."

Joe closes his book and sits quietly for a moment, staring into space.

"What did Brian mean when he called you that name?" he suddenly asks.

"Pardon?"

"What did Brian mean when he called you that name, Stirling Silver?"

He feels her body stiffen beside him. _Damn! I should have kept my bloody mouth shut._

Stirling is silent and still for a long time and he hopes she's fallen asleep.

"It's an old nickname," she says quietly. "It's what my fellow interning physicians used to call me at St. Thomas'. Spencer dreamed it up, thought it was funny. Unfortunately, it caught on."

Joe thinks quietly for a moment. "I don't understand. Why call you that? What did it mean?"

She sighs and awkwardly rolls over onto her back, staring at the ceiling.

"At St. Thomas', my peers considered me hard and tough, unfeeling. I didn't possess a very good bedside manner. I was brusque, condescending, a bit of a bully. I didn't do what was expected of me – I didn't break down emotionally when my first patient died. I never flinched or doubted my abilities, no matter what medical emergency was thrown at me to handle. Because of that, the joke among the other interns was that I didn't actually possess a heart."

Joe watches her struggle for words as she tries to explain. _No heart? Then they never really knew her. She probably has more heart than all of them combined._

"One day, around five of us were sitting in a private break room, resting after a particularly rough night in casualty. There had been a motor vehicle accident involving a bus load of nursery school students. The department had been filled with seriously injured little children. Two were missing limbs, several had crushed skulls, a few had horribly lacerated faces from flying glass."

Her body shivers at the memory. "It was nasty, horrible. Parents were screaming and crying, trying to get to their children. Several student doctors fainted, an intern threw up. Another had an emotional break down. It was a mad house. But I didn't blink. I just kept working, assessing, treating. One of the head trauma cases coded while I was examining her. We worked hard to bring her back but she died a few hours later."

"Anyway, we were sitting in this room, dazed, trying to regroup and catch our breath before the next disaster walked through the door. That's when Spencer started banging on about the interns who had folded under pressure. It annoyed me, especially since one of the people he was yipping about was Christy. I spoke up in their defence."

"So Spencer decided to shift his focus and verbally attacked me, calling me cold and hardhearted. He compared me to the Tin Man in the Wizard of Oz. But rather than not have a heart at all, mine was made from silver – sterling silver. He started calling me Stirling Silver and soon, all of the interns were too. Even some of the chiefs started called me that."

Joe feels a flare of anger. He's never really wished ill of anyone but part of him rejoices in the fact Spencer is dead. _He'll never hurt her again._

She rolls over on her side and looks up at him. "I hated that name so much. I admit it – I was a world-class prat back then. But I did have feelings, I did get upset, have doubts. I just dealt with it differently. I learned to compartmentalize, hide my emotions. And it took a near-death experience to show me my approach wasn't necessarily the right one."

Stirling moves her head to Joe's chest and he puts his arms around her. "I like to think I'm an entirely different person compared to then but sometimes I say or do things that make me doubt it. So, when I heard Brian call me that, it dredged up a lot of uncertainty."

"Oh, Cheeky," he whispers, kissing the top of her head and rubbing his hands up and down her arms. "Take it from me, you're nothing like that person you described. Cold? Hardhearted? Those would be the last words I would use to describe you."

She snuggles closer to him, a relaxed smile on her face. "I love you."

A few minutes later, Stirling's snoring softly and Joe's wondering how he's going to reach his book without waking her up.


	47. Chapter 47

It's taken her a few months of close inspection and deep introspection but Stirling's finally reached a verdict about most of the framed prints that grace the walls of Dr. Silva's waiting room – she absolutely, positively loathes them.

She's sitting, waiting, around noon on Friday when the realization strikes her. At first, she's surprised by her strong reaction. _I'm no art critic but they're really not THAT bad_. But then she realizes it's not the quality of the art work that's bothering her, it's the subject matter. Rosie-cheeked, smiling mothers-to-be, dressed in filmy nightgowns or quaint dresses, stand in sunbeams or rock contentedly in well-decorated nurseries, their hands gently caressing their round bellies. Some are joined by puffy-chested fathers-to-be, who also fondle their wives' stomachs or have an adorable, chubby-faced child beside them, gazing raptly up at them.

_What a bunch of cack! If I had the power and the authority, I would ban all romanticized depictions of pregnancy from surgery waiting rooms._

She's imagining a waiting room filled with framed paintings of swollen ankles, stretch marks, maternity knickers, leaking breasts, and heartburn remedies, when the nurse calls her name. It takes her a moment to negotiate her way up out of the chair but she manages it.

"No hubby today?" the nurse asks as she leads Stirling down the hall to an empty consulting room.

"No, he was called out to a suspicious fire. Thankfully, it was just an old, empty barn."

"Hmmmm," the nurse hums as she records Stirling's weight, sugar and protein levels into her patient folder. Once again, her blood pressure reading is high.

Joe had been concerned about missing her doctor's check-up, dithering about the bedroom early that morning as he dressed as quickly as possible. "Damn arsonists! Why couldn't they have picked a different day to burn something down?" he muttered, pulling on his trousers. "How are you going to get to the appointment?"

"I'm sure I'll think of something," she'd said, sitting up in bed as she watched him rushing back and forth.

"I don't think you should drive the Citroen."

"Why ever not?"

"It's been a few years since you've driven a car."

"So? Has driving really changed that much?"

"I really think I should accompany you the first time you drive it. You've never driven a Citroen before."

"And you have?"

"Well, no. But I have a lot more experience driving than you do."

Stirling's anger had risen and she crossed her arms defiantly in front of her chest.

"I am perfectly capable of driving and handling that car by myself with no help from you or anyone else."

Joe had stared at her helplessly as he clipped on his uniform tie. He bent over the bed and kissed her tenderly. "Be careful. Don't forget, I have that meeting in Bude later this afternoon."

"I won't. You take care of yourself. Let the fire brigade handle the fire. And try not to get knocked down."

He gives her an irritated look. "One time! One time and she won't let me forget it," he mutters before scrambling out the door and down the stairs.

Later that morning, Stirling had spent half an hour sitting in the driver's seat of the Citroen, memorizing the different dials and controls, familiarizing herself with how her body felt against the seat, rubbing her fingers around the circumference of the steering wheel. It felt strange after years of gripping the hand grips on the Triumph.

At first, she'd been nervous, wishing Leyland was there. He had been the one to formally teach her to drive and had escorted her to her driver's test many years ago. She was possibly the first person to ever be delivered to the Cambridge test centre in a Bentley. Michael had arranged for a brand new Jaguar to be waiting there for her to drive. The examiner had spent more time admiring the vehicle than assessing her driving skills. She had passed easily.

She smiled at the memory as she turned the Citroen's ignition key and listened to the vehicle purr to life with soft rumble. _Beautiful!_

Stirling carefully put it into reverse, backing it slowly around the car park at the police station. Once she was free of obstacles, she had put the Citroen in first and crept slowly up to the road's edge. Once the way was clear, she'd floored it, throwing gravel as she turned onto the road, swiftly and smoothly shifting up through the gears as she roared out into the countryside toward Wadebridge.

"You look happy," Dr. Silva says as she walks into the consulting room, startling Stirling from her thoughts.

"Oh, I was just day dreaming."

The doctor frowns slightly as she looks closer at her face. "It looks like you should be doing more night dreaming," she says, reaching out and lifting Stirling's chin so she can shift her head from side-to-side. "How much sleep are you getting a day?"

"It depends. Some days I get about six or seven hours; others, maybe three or four. I'm having a difficult time getting comfortable enough to sleep. And I also find that my mind is racing with everything that happened over the day or is expected to happen in the coming days. I just can't seem to relax. The baby's kicking and punching doesn't help either."

The obstetrician mutters some unintelligible as she writes in Stirling's chart. "Your locum doctor is now in place. Are you still working full days?"

Stirling flinches. "Yes."

Dr. Silva looks up sharply from her patient folder. "That ends now. Dr. Aylesworth, you should be getting at least eight hours of sleep per night and possibly even having a short nap during the day. You know this. I'm deeply concerned that your blood pressure is continuing to creep upwards. If this trend continues, we may have to look at inducing you early. I know you don't want that. You have to understand – you need to slow down. Relax and let the locum do his job. If you can't do this, I'll have to insist on bed rest for the remainder of your pregnancy."

Stirling stares wide-eyed, her fingers dancing nervously along the edge of her maternity blouse. _Thank god Joe's not here._

Dr. Silva sighs, sitting back in her chair. "You need to be careful, Dr. Aylesworth. I've been closely examining the ultrasound images we took last week. I have some concerns about the scar tissue from your past abdominal injury. A knife wound, I believe?"

Stirling pales, suddenly feeling like she's been punched in the gut. "Oh god," she whispers, gasping slightly for breath.

"I called in a surgeon to examine the images and he shares my concerns. The original wound was deep and damaged the uterine wall. Of course, it was stitched closed and healed quite nicely. Unfortunately, it's proving to be a weak spot in your uterus. We have some concern the wound could open up again as the pregnancy enters the final weeks and more pressure is put on the uterus. We're also uncertain how it will handle active labour."

"How concerned?"

"Thirty per cent chance concerned."

Stirling gulps, mentally working through the scenario. A uterine rupture could go one of two ways – the middle layer of the uterine wall could be breached but not the outer, leaving the baby still within the uterus. Or there could be a complete breach, resulting in the contents of the uterus spilling into the peritoneal cavity, the space that separates the organs in the abdominal cavity from the abdominal wall. Both are life-threatening to the baby and mother.

"I take it you are advising a scheduled Cesarian section?"

Dr. Silva nods. "I'm afraid so. I know this isn't what you want to have happen, Stirling. But it is currently looking like the safest route."

"Which surgeon did you have examine the ultrasound images?"

"Dr. Felix Carter."

Stirling's heard of him and he has a good reputation in the area. But she wants a second opinion. "Can I have you forward the images to another surgeon? He closed the original wound. I'd like his opinion."

Dr. Silva frowns slightly. "I guess so. You can leave all the contact information with the receptionist. Regardless, you need to slow down and get more rest. I don't want to be forced to contact the NHS and have you placed on medical leave."

Stirling shudders with anger and outrage at the thought put chokes back her emotions. "Understood," she says curtly.

"I'll see you next week." Dr. Silva quickly leaves the room.

Stirling sits for several minutes in the consulting room, fighting to bring her emotions under control. Doctor-ordered bed rest, possible uterine rupture, high blood pressure, the threat of a forced medical leave – her mind is reeling. She can feel her anxiety level rising. _How in the bloody hell am I supposed to relax when all of this has just been dumped on me?_

Now she's doubly glad Joe wasn't able to make the appointment.

Eventually, with her emotions under control, Stirling is capable of leaving the consulting room and booking a new appointment. She also leaves the Doc's contact information with the receptionist, explaining that her latest ultrasound images are to be forwarded to him for analysis and a second expert opinion.

As she stands next to the Citroen in the car park, she feels a sob rise up in her throat. She fights it back down. _Distraction, I need a distraction_. She checks her watch – half one. She still needs a few more items for her hospital stay after the baby comes and they haven't yet found a change table for the nursery. _When all else fails, try retail therapy_.

* * *

Joe's exhausted but unbelievably pleased with himself as he drives down the A39 from Bude later that afternoon. The investigation into the suspicious fire on the moor is progressing well with an eyewitness reporting a pair of teenage boys seen in the area the previous afternoon. _It's only a matter of time until I identify them._

He's also extremely pleased with the results of his meeting at the Bude station. He grins at the thought of telling Stirling the news.

He decides to take one last look at the fire site before heading home, exiting the motorway onto a B Road just after Truckle Valley. He's nearing St. Tudy when a black car roars past him, obviously exceeding the speed limit. He flips on his blues and twos and quickly turns the Land Rover around. Up ahead, he notices the vehicle make a right turn onto a secondary road leading toward the moor. He floors it, not wanting to lose the vehicle in the maze of lanes and dirt tracks crisscrossing the isolated wilderness.

The road is rough and Joe feels every jarring bump and pothole in its surface, his spine feeling like it's about to pop out the top of his skull. He watches in amazement as the black car appears to float over the road surface.

"Cor blimey," he mutters, slowly gaining on the vehicle.

* * *

Stirling is having an amazing time testing the Citroen's special suspension on the bumpy back roads of Bodmin Moor when she notices blue lights flashing in her rear view mirror.

_Shite! A plod! I've been nicked!_

She eases her foot off the accelerator and shifts down, signalling her turn over to the left side of the road. She stops the Citroen and turns off the purring rumble with a slight frown.

_I hope I don't know this bloke_. She can just imagine how embarrassing it could be for herself and Joe.

She reaches for her wallet, tucked into a small cubby in the front, and waits for the police constable to approach.

As Joe steps up to the vehicle, he is surprised to see the window is already down. He leans over beside the driver's side opening.

"Do you have any idea how fast you were going?"

He turns to look at the driver and stares in silent disbelief. "Stirling!"

She stares back, just as surprised. "Joe? I thought you were in Bude?"

"The meeting didn't take as long as I thought."

He shakes his head and blinks several times before looking at her again.

"Why aren't you at home?"

"I thought I'd do a bit of shopping after my appointment."

It's then Joe realizes what car she's driving. "I see you took the Citroen."

Stirling feels a familiar flare of anger at his tone. "I told you, I know how to drive this car."

"And that's why I just pulled you over for exceeding the speed limit?"

She's silent, her mind racing for a response. "I was testing it out."

"On a public road?" Joe assesses her for a moment. "Driving licence, registration card and proof of insurance, miss."

"What?"

"You heard me. I need to see you documents."

"You're going to ticket me? Your own wife?"

Joe gazes at her, expressionless. "Documents, miss."

Stirling digs out her licence and pulls out the vehicle registration and insurance slip. She hands them to Joe with an indecipherable grumble.

He flips through them. "Stirling. That's an interesting name. Says you're from Portwenn. Leave the hubby and kiddies at home?"

"I don't have any kiddies – yet – and my incredibly barmy hubby is at work."

"Lucky me," Joe says, giving her a look that leaves Stirling trembling and gasping for breath. _Oh my!_

"I need you to exit the vehicle, miss."

She gulps. "Why?"

He leans his head into the car and whispers in her ear. "Am I going to have a problem with you? Do I need to use the speed cuffs?"

Stirling trembles again, closing her eyes. "No, Sergeant."

"Good." he backs slightly away as he opens the driver's door. "Please exit the vehicle, miss."

Stirling slowly unbuckles her seat belt. She carefully places her legs out on the roadway and stands up, supporting herself using the side of the car. She continues to tremble, excited and nervous at the same time, as she shuffles further down the side of the car. She jumps slightly as Joe slams the door.

"You seem kind of jittery, miss. Are you trying to hide something?"

"No, Sergeant. I'm nervous."

Joe slowly approaches her, entering her personal space. He leans in close to her ear and whispers. "Why are you nervous, miss?"

Stirling trembles harder, her breath coming quicker. "Because I have no idea what you're up to but it's turning me on."

Joe turns his head away from her slightly to try to hide his smile. His face is serious again when he turns back.

"Honesty. How refreshing. I think that deserves a reward." He moves in closer. "Don't move," he whispers.

And then his lips are on hers and she's responding to him. Her arms move to touch him, to hold him, and he immediately pulls away. "Don't move," he warns again. "Or I'll bring out the cuffs."

Stirling's tempted to misbehave just to see what might happen but fights back the urge. Instead, she goes along with his orders, enjoying his lips on her, his teeth scraping her bottom lip, his tongue gently touching hers. _Thank god this is an isolated road._

She's surprised when Joe opens one of the back doors of the Citroen. "Climb in, miss."

She looks at him like he's crazy. "Pardon?"

"Move that gorgeous arse and get in the back seat, Now."

She scrambles to do as he orders and is relieved when he carefully helps her in. He follows close behind her, forcing her to slide over on the leather seats. He shuts the door and turns toward her, his hand gripping her sides near her now nonexistent waist. And suddenly she's straddling his lap and her hands are cupping his face as they kiss passionately. His hands run up and down her back before creeping up under her maternity blouse, reaching for her bra clasp.

"Oh my god," Stirling pants. "I haven't snogged in the back seat of a car since I was a teenager."

"So you were one of those naughty school girls," Joe says with a smile, kissing his way down her neck. "Who was the lucky bloke?"

"Michael."

He pulls back from her lips like he's just received an electrical shock. "Aubrey?" he asks incredulously. "You used to snog with Aubrey!"

Stirling blushes. "Don't act all surprised. He was my boyfriend back then. We used to go driving on Saturday nights and park down isolated country lanes." She pauses for a moment, remembering back in time. "But you know, it never really felt right. There was no passion, no sexual tension, no fervour of emotion. It was like what I imagine kissing your own big brother would be like. It was nothing like snogging with you," she whispers, touching her lips against his.

The pair wrestle in the back seat for what feels like minutes but turns out to be almost an hour. With their clothes in various states of disarray, mussed hair and well-kissed lips, Stirling snuggles against Joe as he cradles her on his lap.

"Oh dear," she says, resting her head against his shoulder. "We've gone and fogged up the windows."

Joe laughs. "It was all that heavy panting you were doing."

"Me! You weren't exactly quiet yourself, Lover Boy."

He tightens his arms around her more, pulling her in tighter against his body. "How was your appointment?"

Stirling manages to keep her body from stiffening at his question. "Fine. My blood pressure is still high. Dr. Silva wants me to go half days from now on."

Joe frowns slightly. "You should have been on half days from the point Brian showed up."

"I didn't just want to throw him to the wolves. I wanted him to have the opportunity to get to know the community and his patients before he started treating them."

"Well, he's had his introduction. Now it's time for half days. Actually, you should probably go on leave now."

Now she stiffens. "Not yet. I'm not ready yet."

He reaches up and touches her face, gently tracing one of the darkened, swollen bags that rests under her eyes. "Have you ever thought that perhaps your body is trying to tell you it's time?"

Stirling squirms on his lap, uncomfortable with the idea he may be right. "How did your meeting go?" she asks, desperate to change the subject.

"Excellent!" he says, kissing her forehead with a mischievous look on his face. "I made it."

"What?" She scrambles up from his lap and plunks down on the back seat, facing him. Her eyes are dancing with excitement.

"I made it. I made the Special Operations Team."

"Aces! Aces, aces, aces!" she shouts, her face stretching out into a wide smile. She grabs Joe's face and kisses him repeatedly before hugging him close. "I told you! I knew you could do it!"

She's practically vibrating with excitement as she shakes the whole car, reaching out to kiss him again. "My very own special operative," she whispers in his ear.

"Now let's not get carried away. It's not that kind of a team. We get called in when they need extra bodies for important investigations, like missing children, lost hikers, stranded boaters, natural disasters, those sorts of emergencies. I didn't join MI5."

"I know, I know. I'm just excited for you." Stirling gently strokes his cheek with her hand. "You worked hard and you reached a goal. I think that's worthy of a celebration," she says, leaning back to look Joe in the eyes. "Dinner out, on me, your choice."

"That's easy," he says with a smile. "That tapas restaurant in Bodmin I took you to during that date we had almost a year ago."

Her eyes open wide with surprise. "You remember!"

"How could I forget! It was an apology dinner for my horrible behaviour on the beach. I tried to jump you!"

Stirling laughs at the memory. It feels so long ago but actually occurred less than a year back. _Time flies!_

"I have a great idea. We'll go to Bodmin for dinner and when we get back home, I'll let you jump me."

"Excellent plan," Joe says, kissing her tenderly. "Let's go."


	48. Chapter 48

After locking the police station for the evening, Joe walks through the connecting door into the peace and quiet of his home. The first thing he sees is Stirling sprawled in the big padded chair just inside the doorway of the lounge, her feet elevated on the matching footstool. She's asleep, her head leaning at an uncomfortable angle and propped against the wrist of her left arm. A copy of the British Medical Journal lies across her large, rounded stomach, face down to mark the page she was reading.

Joe smiles as he watches her, marvelling at her ability to fall asleep anywhere and in any position. As he walks closer, he can see the magazine shifting, as the baby inside her punches and kicks. He lifts the journal gently and places his hand tenderly against Stirling's stomach, feeling the strong kicks against his fingers and palm.

_Beautiful,_ he thinks, amazed she can continue to sleep through all that internal activity.

Even though she's currently working half-days, it's obvious she's exhausted when she returns home from the surgery. And, despite being tired, she is having a hard time falling asleep at night, tossing, turning and fluffing pillows endlessly beside him as she struggles to get comfortable. She usually resorts to wedging cushions under her round belly to provide some kind of support for her back before she can nod off. Even then, she only sleeps a few hours at a time, sometimes wandering downstairs to finish off the night napping upright in the lounge chair.

Joe leans over and gently kisses Stirling's forehead. She doesn't move, even when he bends lower and kisses her jiggling belly, returning the magazine to its perch.

He retraces his steps to the kitchen, glancing in the oven of the cooker at the meat pie baking. It smells fantastic. He examines the timer ticking away on the counter – 30 minutes or so to go, he notes. Opening the refrigerator, he digs for some lettuce and other vegetables to make a salad. Even with the cleaning, peeling, cutting and slicing, it only takes him five minutes to prepare it.

With nothing left to do, Joe sits on the chesterfield and reads through the non-urgent reports faxed through to the police station over the course of the day. These represent minor crimes and disturbances that occurred in police districts near Portwenn in the past 24 hours, providing him and other area police outposts with enough information to keep an eye open for anything suspicious.

Every once in a while, he glances up at Stirling, who appears to never move as she sleeps. It's only the ding of the oven timer that finally rouses her. She jumps to her feet, knocking her magazine to the floor, and rushes into the kitchen to pull the meat pie from the oven. As she sets the hot dish on an insulted pad to cool, she notices the table is set with plates, cutlery and glasses, plus a salad. "Joe?" she calls softly.

"In here," he says from the chesterfield. "You ran right by without even seeing me."

Stirling enters the lounge with an embarrassed look on her face. "I'm sorry. My mind is zonked. I've heard of baby brain but I thought it was just some silly excuse for being forgetful or unobservant. But it seems to exist."

Joe shifts his papers onto the floor beside the chesterfield and helps her sit and ultimately lie with him, leaning her back and head against his chest. He wraps his arms around her, resting his hands on her high belly. "The baby was really kicking when I came in," he said. "It was amazing to watch you sleep while your magazine was jumping around on your stomach."

She laughs. "Well, based on what I'm feeling right now, the calisthenics program is still underway. And he's kicking me right under my ribs on the top left."

Joe moves his hands and can feel the increased pressure and movement in the area she described. "Do we need to try to shift him?" he asks.

"No, it doesn't hurt too badly. Besides, it's getting harder to get him to move. I have a feeling room is becoming scarce in there."

She sighs and relaxes more against Joe, tipping her head to the right and snuggling on his shoulder. He turns his head and kisses her nose. "How was your day?" she asks.

"Uneventful," he says, snuggling her closer to him. "But it will soon be busier around here as the nice weather comes. It will be wall-to-wall holidaymakers with their usual problems."

Stirling nods her head sleepily.

"Before you fall asleep again, maybe we should have dinner," he suggests, helping her to sit forward and then stand up.

About five minutes later, they are settled at the table eating. Stirling is describing an interesting consultation she had with a specialist from London when Joe's beeper goes off.

She immediately becomes quiet, watching as he pulls it from his belt and checks the number. "I have to call in," he says, standing up from the table and walking quickly through the connecting door back into the police station.

Stirling takes a few more bites of her meat pie and stares at her plate, brooding. She's not sure if it's because she's pregnant, and more emotional and anxious, but she is beginning to hate that beeper. Every time it goes off, she knows there's a chance she'll be left alone, possibly for days. Her biggest fear is the beeper will go off the week the baby's due and Joe will leave her. She has nightmares about it, dreading the thought of being alone and in pain while he is working, ultimately missing the birth of their son.

A few minutes later, Joe walks back into the kitchen. "I've been called in," he says quietly, knowing Stirling will not be pleased.

"No," she whispers, paling as she realizes he might not be back in time for their weekend trip to London. "What about the benefit?"

"I don't know," he says, sitting down to gulp down the rest of his dinner. "They need some officers to help out with an investigation at Cape Cornwall. There's a young couple missing and they need searchers."

Stirling feels tears sting her eyes and is instantly angry for showing such weakness. Unfortunately, her anger just makes her cry more.

"Please don't cry, Cheeky," he says quietly. He squats by her chair. "I won't be gone long. Hopefully I'll be back before Thursday night."

She wraps her arms around him, sobbing and feeling like a silly, emotional git. She kisses him, pushing hard against his lips, opening her mouth to him, pulling his body closer to her.

He gasps. "Stirling, I have to get packed and go."

"I'll help you," she says, following him up the stairs to their bedroom. She packs his large black rucksack while he strips off to change into his black special operations fatigues. As he steps into his black trousers, she wraps her arms around his bare chest from behind, kissing the back of his shoulders and neck.

"Cheeky," he groans, turning toward her. "I don't have a lot of time. My ride will be here soon."

"Please make time," she says quietly, sitting on the edge of the bed and undoing the trousers he's just put on. She touches his chest, massages his bum, kissing a path down the treasure trail on his lower stomach. "For me?"

And then he is lying with her, kissing her, removing her clothing, loving her.

Twenty minutes later, Stirling stands by the front door in her dressing gown, her large stomach trying to poke out between the wrapped fabric, watching Joe stow his gear in the boot of the large police vehicle waiting for him. He turns to look at her and strides quickly to the door.

"Sergeant, we don't have time. Let's go!" PC Gibbons shouts from the front passenger window, banging his hand on the side of the vehicle.

"I'll call you when I can," Joe whispers, bending down and kissing her tenderly. She grips him fiercely by the collar of his black anorak, not wanting to let go of him or his lips.

"Sergeant, she's already extremely up the duff. You can't get her any more pregnant. Let's go, you wanker!"

"I love you," Stirling whispers, reluctantly letting him go.

"I love you," he says, quickly kissing her lips and then her belly before running to the vehicle and climbing in the back.

Large tears course down her cheeks like a river as she watches the back marker lights fade and disappear into the darkness.

She angrily wipes at her eyes, cursing under her breath, before she turns and walks back into the house. She closes the door and locks it behind her.

Stirling sighs as she gazes at the kitchen. She grabs the dirty plates from the kitchen table and methodically cleans up, putting the leftovers in the refrigerator and the dirty dishes in the sink. She fills it with warm, soapy water and starts washing.

Tomorrow morning, PC Garrett will arrive to cover for Joe. For tonight, any emergency calls will be forwarded for Wadebridge to handle; Joe arranged it all before he left.

As she finishes washing the final dish, Stirling covers the drain tray with a dry dishtowel, leaving the dishes to air-dry overnight. She'll put them away in the morning.

She checks her watch and sighs again as she shuts off the lights and climbs the stairs to the bedroom. All she can smell is Joe. She crawls under the duvet and hugs his pillow against her, breathing his scent in deep. She cries herself to sleep.

* * *

Stirling is up fairly early in the morning and has a bowl of cereal before getting ready for the day. As she dresses after her shower, she wonders if Joe had any sleep last night. _Probably not, _she thinks.

At 8 o'clock, she locks the front door of the house just as PC Garrett pulls up in his little, beat-up compact car, which he parks out of sight behind the station. He'll be driving the Land Rover while he's patrolling Portwenn.

He walks around the corner carrying his rucksack, stops and gives a low whistle.

"Doc Stirling," he says. "You're huge! You were big before but it's like your belly has popped out even more or something. How much longer until the little sprog arrives?"

Stirling smiles wearily. "Another four weeks. How's Reagan?"

"She's great. Reagan is taking care of Juliet, who was singing up a storm when I left. She'll probably be by later tonight, if that's okay?"

She nods.

"Hopefully, the Sergeant won't be away too long," adds PC Garrett.

"Hopefully," she whispers. "Well, I should be off to work. Have a good day, Arthur. I'll see you later."

Clutching her doctor's bag, Stirling slowly and steadily climbs the hill toward Portwenn. She enjoys her morning walks to work, the warm sun, the friendly greetings from the villagers she passes. She even enjoys the dull ache she feels in her legs and lower back from the workout. But as she walks up the hill to the surgery and nears the end of her morning exertion, she feels like she's waddling.

Alex is sitting at the reception desk when she comes through the front door.

"Morning, Doc Stirling," the young blonde says, beaming.

"Good morning, Alex."

"I heard the Sergeant's been called away again."

It never ceases to amaze Stirling how fast news travels in Portwenn. She's convinced the villagers will know when she has gone into labour before she does.

"Yes, he's been called in to assist with an investigation. Hopefully, he'll be back home before the weekend."

"You're going to London with Doc Martin and Louiser, aren't you?"

"We're supposed to be. Dr. Bond has organized a fundraiser for a children's cancer support program. Some old friends of mine are part of the entertainment and I'm looking forward to seeing them again. It's been a few years."

Stirling smiles at her memories of performing with Duncan and the band at the Bristol Bobby pub and that crazy Friday night when she met Joe for the first time.

"How did yesterday afternoon go?" she asks, forcing her mind back to present-day reality.

"Doc Brian did well. And he didn't let Mr. Moysey annoy him too much."

Stirling smiles, glancing up the surgery stairs. "Are they still home or have they left exploring already?"

"They left not long after I arrived. I think they said they were going to visit Tintagel this morning."

Just then, the door opens and the first patient of the morning arrives.

"Good morning, Mr. Saunders. Have a seat and I'll be with you in just a moment," says Stirling, picking up her bag and heading into the consulting room.

"Take your time, Doc," the middle-aged man says, settling into a chair in the waiting room with that day's Cornish Guardian. "Don't tire yourself out rushing around because of me. You need to keep your strength up, carrying that big baby belly around."

She rolls her eyes at Alex as she takes his patient file from her.

"Don't worry about me. How about I take a look at that sore back of yours?"

* * *

By 12:30, when her last patient of the morning has finally walked out the door, Stirling is exhausted. Her lower back is aching and the baby has shifted so he is sitting right on top of her bladder. She sits in the consulting room, her feet propped on the desk and her chair reclined as far back as it will go, contemplating what difficulties she might face if she tried to self-administer a catheter.

"I'm just going to go out for some lunch, Doc," says Alex. "Would you like anything?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Mr. Saunders left his Guardian behind. Would you like a look at it?"

Stirling looks out the open doorway. "Yes, I would," she says, reaching out for the newspaper as Alex hands it to her.

As the front door closes behind the surgery receptionist, she unfolds the broadsheet so she can read the front-page article, describing the search currently underway in the Cape Cornwall area for a young London couple. Both in their mid-20s, Martin Denys and Tara Maerten disappeared the previous afternoon while hiking along the South West Coastal Path just south of the area's popular Cape Cornwall Mine site. The pair was visiting the area with friends when they decided to go exploring on their own. They never returned to their vehicle, which was found undisturbed in the Cape Cornwall car park. Their friends had eventually contacted the Devon and Cornwall Police and an investigation and search were launched. So far, the only sign of the couple is the discovery of one of their mobile phones in the long grass along the side of the path about two miles south of where they left their car. Investigators have been unable to get a reading on the second mobile, which they fear has been turned off or the battery dead.

Stirling refolds the paper and throws it on her desktop, her stomach clenched in apprehension. This search might take a while.


	49. Chapter 49

Joe shuts his eyes and groans. He is bone tired and wet, sitting with his back against one of the force's police vans, having a refreshment break with the other members of his team.

It's been a long night and morning and he's not sure when or if the group is going to be given any extended down time to sleep. They're expected to return to the investigation area in the next 30 minutes to continue their grid pattern search. They've managed to cover several miles of area in the past 10 hours, painstakingly examining, cataloguing and mapping everything they find.

It's a tedious job but Joe manages to work through it by thinking about home, about Stirling, about her laugh and beautiful big smile, how it feels to wake up with her head lying on his chest, her arms and legs wrapped around him like a climbing rose, their long walks together along the cliff paths holding hands, what it's like to snuggle up behind her in bed, pressing against –

"I know what the Sergeant is dreaming about," says PC Gibbons, biting into an apple. "He's wishing he was back home in his little fishing village snuggling in bed with his very pregnant wife. Aren't you Sarge?"

Joe opens his eyes and gives Gibbons an annoyed look. He grunts in response.

"Hell, I wish I was in your fishing village snuggling in bed with your very pregnant wife," the constable says, laughing.

"Shut up, Gibbons," says one of the other members of the group, throwing a grape from the bunch he's munching on. It hits the mouthy constable in the head.

"Hey, she might be as big as a house at the moment but she is one posh looking woman," Gibbons says. "How'd you luck out and snag a fine looking bird like that, Sarge?"

Joe is trying his damnedest to ignore the annoying police constable but is finding it difficult.

"I was very lucky," he mutters, half asleep, imagining being curled up holding Stirling in their very soft, very warm, and very dry bed. "Maybe if you shut your pie hole once in a while, you might get lucky yourself."

"Yeah, Gibbons, you loudmouth wanker," another police constable says.

Joe grumbles and tries again to get comfortable against the hard side of the van. He would love to get even a few minutes sleep, if he could. If his fellow team mates would just shut the hell up, maybe he could even dream about Stirling, who he is missing very much. It hasn't even been 24 hours yet and he's pining for her, her warm body, and her big, beautiful, belly. He sighs.

"The sooner we find these two adventurers, the sooner we can go home," says Sergeant Ed Becker, who helps lead the small search team with Joe. "And Gibbons can go back to his district and snuggle with whatever slapper he can find."

The other men laugh while Gibbons scowls at them miserably. And Joe tries his hardest to dream his way home to Portwenn.

* * *

Brian, Katherine plus little Benji and Elsie return from Tintagel over the surgery lunch break and Stirling has an opportunity to visit with them before walking home.

"How are you finding everything so far?" she asks Brian.

He laughs. "It's a lot different from London, particularly the patients. They certainly have their own way of doing things here, don't they?"

Stirling smiles. "They're wonderful once you get to know them. As I suggested before, you should try to eat in the pub at least twice a week. You'll soon be a familiar face to all of them."

"The little ones are having a wonderful time," says Brian, watching his two youngsters eating their lunch at the kitchen table. "I think we're really going to enjoy our summer break here. Thanks for thinking of me, Stirling."

"I remember you mentioning how much you wanted to have a working holiday somewhere the children could have fun and explore instead of being cooped up in the city all summer. I'm just grateful you're able to help me out."

"So, the end of next week, you're done?"

"Yes. Do you think you'll be ready to tackle it all on your own by then?"

"Stirling, don't worry. This place is like heaven and more relaxing than dealing with a waiting room full of complaining, loudmouthed Londoners any day. I'll be ready."

She sighs with relief as she walks home, swinging her doctor's bag in a carefree manner. Her arrangement with Dr. Stillwell looks like it's going to work out, leaving her free to concentrate on the baby guilt-free when he finally arrives. She is smiling happily to herself, rubbing her upper stomach, when she meets with Louisa, James Henry and little Sarah out for a walk in the warm sun.

"Stirling, you look happy," says Louisa with a smile. "But exhausted. Are you okay?"

"Just a bit tired."

"I heard Joe was called out to help with that search at Cape Cornwall. Do you think he's going to be back in time to make the trip to London on Friday?"

"I'm not sure. I haven't heard from him since he's left. Hopefully, he might have some idea how long he's going to be out in the field when I talk to him next, maybe sometime tonight."

"If he can't make it, will you still be coming with us?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Stirling says with a laugh. "I've been looking forward to this for weeks. And I promised Christopher I would be there to support his cause."

"Good," says Louisa, slowly rocking the carriage back and forth as Sarah begins to fuss. "I better get this one home for a feeding. Talk to you later. If you need anything, don't hesitate to call. And get some rest!"

Stirling watches Louisa march off with her little brood and then returns to her slow walk home.

As she walks up to the police station, she notes the Land Rover is gone.

_Arthur is probably on patrol or at a call._ She unlocks her front door and walks in. She sets her doctor's bag beside the door so she can grab it quickly and kicks off her boots. She immediately heads for her favourite spot – the big comfy chair and footstool in the lounge. She settles into the soft cushions, making herself as comfortable as she can, given the circumstances. She's contemplating what she should make herself for lunch when she falls asleep.

* * *

Joe's not sure if he can keep his eyes open much longer as he slowly walks through the high grass meadow along the inland edge of the coastal path. He keeps his eyes down with each step, looking for evidence; anything at all that looks like it doesn't belong.

He glances at his watch and calculates he's been awake for more than 30 hours.

_I am so tired_, he thinks, stumbling slightly on the uneven ground.

He wonders how Stirling's doing. _She's probably having a nap in her chair_. He wishes he could curl up in the chair with her, have her lean back against his chest, wrap his arms around her, feel her regular breaths combined with intermittent kicks from the baby. He feels his eyelids getting heavier. He stumbles again.

_Stay awake, Penhale!_ he shouts at himself mentally.

It's then he sees something shiny on the ground just in front of him. He stops, squats down, moves the grass away gently to get a better view. It's a silver hoop earring. He digs in his pocket and unfolds the photos and descriptions. In her photo, the young woman is wearing silver hoop earrings. He looks at the area around the find. The grass is bent, bruised and slightly flattened in a wide area, almost like someone had fallen or lain down.

He stands, lifts his hand high above his head and shouts: "Got something."

Sergeant Becker stops, marks his spot and walks backward a dozen metres before running toward Joe's position. Several detectives conversing on the coastal trail look up at his shout. One begins wandering his way.

Joe points out the earring to Sergeant Becker and the flattened area in the grass just as the detective walks up. He squats down and examines the area as well, eventually calling over the other detective. They radio in for a scene of crime officer.

"Good work, Sergeant," the detective says, slapping Joe on the back.

He feels a blast of adrenaline that will hopefully keep him conscious for the next few hours.

* * *

It's the bang of the police station door that wakes Stirling a few hours later.

_Arthur must be back_, she thinks, struggling to sit upright. Being front heavy has very distinct disadvantages as she finally manages to heave herself out of the chair. She wanders into the kitchen, her stomach rumbling in hunger. She checks the refrigerator and smiles as she notices PC Garrett finished the leftovers from last night's dinner. She expected that would happen.

She makes herself a couple of roast beef sandwiches with cheese plus a small salad. As she sits at the kitchen table eating, she contemplates what to make for dinner. She feels exhausted by the prospect of having to prepare another meal.

_Maybe Arthur and Reagan would be interested in wandering down to the pub with me for dinner._

As she finishes her late lunch, the telephone rings. She slowly walks over and picks up the handset.

"Hello?"

"You have no idea how long I've been looking forward to hearing your voice," Joe says.

Stirling laughs and glances at her watch. "I don't know, 18 hours?"

"Sounds about right. How are you feeling? Still being beaten from the inside out?"

"Every waking moment. I'm feeling very tired. I'm actually looking forward to my last day next week. Of course, I'm probably nowhere near as tired as you must be right now. Have you had much rest?"

"We're having a few hours break now," Joe explains. "We found what appears to be a crime scene along the trail and some scene of crime officers are working there now. The powers that be thought we might as well get some rest while the techs work."

"Then why are you on your mobile talking to me? You should be asleep."

"I wanted to hear your voice first. I'm hoping that by talking to you, I'll be able to dream about you later."

Stirling feels tears sting her eyes but she fights them back. She doesn't want to blubber like a baby on the phone to Joe, especially with him so far away. It will only make him feel guilty and she doesn't want that.

"You said you found a crime scene? I thought this was a missing persons case; that they had just wandered off and became lost or hurt?"

"That's what we thought at first but this latest find seems to indicate otherwise. The case is becoming more complicated. Cheeky, I might not be back in time for the weekend."

Stirling is quiet as she considers this news. It doesn't surprise her. She knew this would happen after he was chosen for the special operations team. She had just hoped it would be later rather than sooner.

"I understand, Joe. I'll probably go up with the Chief and Louisa. I promised Christopher I would be there and I haven't seen Michael and Leyland, plus Duncan and the boys in a while. I'll be fine."

"I'm sorry, Cheeky" Joe says. He knows she's been looking forward to this trip, being away from Portwenn for a few days with him, taking him to London, her old stomping grounds. He's also been looking forward to experiencing the city with her, their last time away together before the baby comes.

"You should go lie down now, get some rest," Stirling says. "They'll be waking you up in no time."

"I love you and I miss you," says Joe quietly.

"I love and miss you too," she answers, choking back her tears.

"I'll be home soon."

And then he is gone.

She wipes her eyes and gently hangs up the phone.

She's startled when she turns around and discovers PC Garrett sitting at the kitchen table, eating a sandwich.

"Was that the Sergeant?"

"Yes. He doesn't know when he'll be back but he doesn't think it will be this weekend. The investigation is becoming complicated."

The constable is silent for a moment. "I'm sorry, Doc."

"Well, I was wondering if you and Reagan wanted to come with me to dinner tonight at the pub – my treat," she says with a smile. "I don't feel like cooking and cleaning up after. Let's have someone else do it for us."

PC Garrett smiles. "Sounds wonderful. I just have a few more hours of duty in the station. Reagan should be here around half five. How about we leave at 6?"

"Perfect," she says, turning and walking back into the lounge and settling into her chair. She picks up the British Medical Journal from the floor beside it and begins reading where she left off.


	50. Chapter 50

Several days go by and Joe still hasn't returned. The investigation has spread to the surrounding countryside and he is kept busy going door-to-door, asking local residents questions about unfamiliar vehicles, strange visitors, neighbours suddenly acting different. He also shows the photos, hoping someone might have seen or noticed something, anything.

He's not sure the canvassing is providing any helpful information for investigators. "Yous know this place is haunted by the restless spirits of sailors who drowned when theirs ships wrecked on the rocks off Cape Cornwall?" a stoop-shouldered woman with a face like a dried apple told him one afternoon as he stood at her farmhouse door. "At night, yous can hear them wailing over the fields. Just the other night, I heards them, trying to tempt me out into the darkness, they was. They want to make me disappear like me cousin Bryce did 20 years back."

No matter how wild or outrageous the theory, Joe writes it all down and submits it with his twice daily reports. He's becoming impatient. He wants to get back home to his wife and Portwenn.

Stirling waddles through her days and feels a pang of sadness as Thursday night comes and there's still no Joe. She, the Doc, and Louisa are leaving in the morning for London on the first train out. Leyland plans to meet them at London Paddington station in the afternoon.

She slowly packs her bag, standing in front of her wardrobe, trying to decide what to bring. Her huge stomach limits her choices and as she sorts through the outfits, she discovers her old Metropolitan police uniform costume. She smiles as she looks at it – the tiny tight shorts, the uniform shirt tied like a halter-top, the loose black tie. The only parts that still fit her are the hat and the tie. But she looks in Joe's wardrobe and pulls out one of his clean uniform shirts. She pulls it on and easily ties it halter-top style above her bare, tautly stretched belly.

She laughs as she looks in the full-length mirror. _This is definitely NOT a sexy look_, _unless you have a pregnant woman fetish_.

She thinks about what's in her bureau drawers and the wardrobe and begins pulling out different items. _No. No. No. Maybe. Yes. No. No. Maybe. Yes. Yes._ She strips down to her bra and underwear and begins dressing in the outfit she has managed to put together. First, she pulls on a tight black maternity tank top and black capri-length tights. _I wonder if I can find a pair in London with the black and white Sillitoe Tartan up the side?_ Next, she puts on the white halter-top she made from Joe's uniform shirt plus her loose black tie. She slips on her knee-high black boots, which she hasn't worn in months, probably not since her honeymoon. In the loo, she brushes and pulls back her hair into a severe bun and puts her Met police hat on. And, finally, she slides on the finishing touch – aviator-style mirrored sunglasses.

Stirling laughs at her reflection in the bedroom's full-length mirror. Apart from the different trousers and the huge stomach, she looks remarkably like the Stirling who sang with the band Strip Search back in Bristol. She grabs her mobile and takes a picture of herself striking a sexy pose, types in a message and sends it to Joe before she has second thoughts. As she removes the clothes, she folds them carefully and adds them to her travel bag. _Just in case_.

* * *

Joe's sitting with his team in a large dining room at the Cape Cornwall Golf and Leisure centre eating his dinner when he hears a ping. _Message_. He rips open one of the Velcro pockets on his mud-splattered fatigue trousers and pulls out his mobile. He's just taken a mouthful of mashed potatoes when he activates the email program and opens the attached photo from Stirling. As his brain registers what he's looking at, he coughs, spitting the potatoes out of his mouth and splattering the rookie police constable sitting across the table from him.

"Bloody hell!" the young man shouts, jumping up from the table and wiping at the white, gooey mess covering his shirt and face.

The rest of the men at the table burst into laughter, except for Joe, who is too busy choking while staring at his mobile to notice.

"You're a fookin' tosser, Sarge," the rookie snarls, strutting toward the men's loo. The table just keeps laughing.

"What the hell happened to you, Penhale?" asks Sergeant Becker, still laughing as he leans forward to look down the table at him.

Joe's managed to clear his throat of potatoes but he is still staring mesmerized at his mobile. _Miss me yet? I miss you so badly!_ the message reads. But the photo, the photo has taken him back in time to Bristol and the night he watched this sexy, sassy singer strut her stuff on stage, grown men licking her boots, trying to get her to notice them. And the kiss, that toe-curling kiss she gave him that seemed to go on forever but in his mind was never long enough. Except for the large, very pregnant belly, that singer is staring back at him from the photo, blowing him a kiss.

Suddenly, Joe no longer has his mobile in his hand. PC Gibbons has grabbed it from his grasp and is busy checking out what his sergeant has been staring at. Joe reaches out for his mobile but not quickly enough as the police constable dances out of his reach.

"Holy shit!" PC Gibbons shouts, looking up at Joe open-mouthed. "I have wanking material for the rest of my life!"

The team goes nuts, scrambling up from the table to crowd around the police constable, anxious for a look at whatever it is that has caused such carnal excitement.

"Wow, the Skipper got a booty call!" one of them shouts.

Joe is enraged. He elbows his way through the seething circle of policemen and rips his mobile away from PC Gibbons. He grabs the constable by the shoulder of his black T-shirt and begins dragging him toward the door.

"You're coming with me, you little arsehole," he snarls.

All the shouting and activity at their team table has prompted most of the other police constables in the room to turn and watch. Now they follow behind Joe's search team as he drags a protesting PC Gibbons out the door.

He throws the constable onto the gravel of the car park. "I've had all I'm going to take from you and your – your – your smart mouth. I'm a fairly easy-going bloke but when you disrespect my wife and make suggestive comments about her, I get very angry. So now I'm going to kick your sorry little arse."

Joe reaches down and grabs PC Gibbons by the front of his T-shirt, yanking him to his feet before hauling back and punching him southpaw-style on the right side of his face. The police constable falls to the ground like a sack of potatoes and doesn't move.

Meanwhile, Joe is jumping around the car park, shaking his left hand and whimpering in pain.

"Better call a medic," says Sergeant Becker to the open-mouthed constable standing next to him, watching the display. "I've got an officer down and unconscious and I think Sergeant Penhale has broken his hand."

* * *

Early Friday morning, Stirling gives PC Garrett a hug and a quick kiss on the cheek. He blushes.

"Have a great weekend," he says. "Don't worry. I'll take care of everything here."

She tries not to laugh.

"And, hopefully, when you get home Sunday night, the Sergeant will be back."

Stirling smiles and pats the police constable on the cheek. "You're such a sweetie, Arthur," she says. "You make sure Reagan takes good care of you while I'm gone. And no wild parties."

PC Garrett blushes again.

Just then, she hears a car drive up. She grabs her bags and the young police constable opens the door for her. He grabs the larger bag and her guitar case from her grasp and carries them to the Doc's car, putting them in the open boot before slamming the lid down. Stirling settles into the backseat and buckles up. She waves to PC Garrett as they drive away.

The Doc looks back at the police constable as he drives the Lexus out of Portwenn. "I see the idiot is back," he mutters.

He looks back at Stirling using the rear view mirror. "You look tired," he growls. "Have you been getting much sleep?"

"No," admits Stirling, looking out the window. "I can't seem to get comfortable. I toss and turn a lot before I finally find the right spot. Sometimes I have to sleep sitting up in a chair. And with Joe away, it's become twice as bad."

There's a grunt from the driver's seat. "When are you done working at the surgery?"

"A week today; next Friday."

"Perhaps you should consider moving that day forward," he says as he drives. "You need to get some rest."

"Martin," Louisa says quietly.

He turns and looks at his wife. "You told me the same thing a few days ago; she looks exhausted. And she does. You need rest," he says crossly into the rear view mirror. "You're not going to get any after the baby arrives."

"I know," Stirling says quietly.

The Doc clears his throat. "I looked at your report," he says.

She looks up quickly, catching his eyes in the rear view mirror. "And?"

"I think Dr. Silva and Felix are being overly cautious. I looked closely at your ultrasound images and there's a small amount of thinning in the area of your scar but nothing that would suggest the increased possibility of a rupture, no more than would be possible after a Cesarian section. And those odds are 1.5 per cent, not 30."

He's quiet for a moment before continuing. "I double stitched that wound and I did a very thorough job. As I recall, it healed very well. In my professional opinion, you stand no greater chance of experiencing a uterine rupture than a woman who is attempting a vaginal birth after a Cesarian section."

Stirling heaves a sigh of relief. "Thanks Chief. I appreciate you taking the time to look at that report for me."

For the remainder of the trip to the local train station, she chats with the Doc about his surgical practice in Truro and some of the interesting cases he's been involved with recently. The pair talks medicine while Louisa smiles to herself, pleased to see her husband converse about his passion so easily with a peer. She knows this is something he still struggles with in Truro, where he describes most of the other surgeons as rather "basic." But Stirling has always been able to hold her own with Martin, maintaining her temper even when he blatantly tries to provoke her, having the nerve to laugh in his face when challenged with any of his more outrageously rude statements. Louisa knows he has a grudging respect for her. And even though Stirling fell in love and married the one person in Portwenn Martin still has misgivings about – Joe Penhale – he is still interested in her opinion and listens to her ideas and thoughts.

"It's rather unfortunate she has such poor taste in men," he said to Louisa once, "but she still has an incredibly keen mind for medicine and amazing musical ability. I guess one can't be perfect at everything."

Once they reach the station, the Doc organizes everyone's luggage along the platform and they sit down to wait. The train schedule into Bodmin, the closest station to Portwenn, is never punctual; a 15 to 30 minute wait from the scheduled time isn't unheard of. During the interval, Stirling and Louisa chat about London and the theatre production they plan to attend that evening. It's been years since Stirling has been to see a play in the West End and she's really looking forward to it; the only thing that would make it better is if Joe was coming too.

"I see you're bringing your guitar," says the Doc.

"Some old friends of mine are performing at Dr. Bond's benefit concert on Saturday night. I thought I might go to the rehearsal during the afternoon and play with them. It's been a few years since I've seen them and I thought it might be fun."

He grunts in response.

Eventually the eastbound train pulls slowly into the station. The Doc watches as their luggage is loaded into the appropriate car and then helps Louisa and Stirling board the train. They eventually find a group of seats together and settle in for the long trip. Five minutes out of the station, Louisa looks up from her book and smiles as she notices that Stirling is sound asleep, her head braced against the corner cushion of her slightly reclined seat.

"Hopefully she'll sleep the whole trip," she whispers to Martin. "She needs it."

He glances up from the newspaper he's reading and looks at Stirling.

"She needs more than four or five hours sleep. She looks like she needs to sleep for days. I'm tempted to contact her obstetrician in Truro and suggest she stop worrying her with tales of uterine rupture and instead put her on bed rest."

"Martin!" Louisa says. "Don't butt in where you're not wanted."

"She used to be one of my patients and she looks terrible! And Penhale is off beating the bushes in the wilds of Cornwall so he's not here to look after her. And that GP she has arranged to cover for her, who knows if he's any good. My god, she looks like she has two black eyes!"

Louisa admits Stirling is looking rough but she also believes Martin interfering with the situation will just lead to trouble, especially considering the more stubborn of the two is Stirling. She returns to her book but glances up from time-to-time, making sure the young doctor is still asleep.

* * *

Joe feels like a complete ass as the doctor from nearby St. Just wraps his very swollen, very broken hand. He refused medical attention the evening before as a first aider came to apply ice to PC Gibbons bruised face. "I just sprained it," he cockily said at the time. He spent the next 12 hours regretting his hasty statement as his hand throbbed and swelled, keeping him awake.

Sergeant Becker took one look at him this morning and sent for a doctor. "It's broken," the white-haired medical professional said. "I can wrap it for now and give you some pain pills but it needs to be x-rayed and a proper cast applied."

Now he sits, flinching periodically as she applies more pressure to the bandage she's wrapping around his hand. "How did it happen?" she asks quietly as she works.

"I punched that mouthy git over there in the face," Joe says, nodding his head toward PC Gibbons, who's standing with the other search team members watching the doctor work.

She glances over at the constable and flinches as she notices his blackened eye and swollen face. "I'm not quite sure who got it worse – you or him. You know, you should have had this taken care of last night."

Joe blushes. "I know but lately I've been tending to take medical treatment for granted," he admits. "My wife is a doctor and she usually takes care of any injuries, which I seem to get frequently."

Joe hears a strange sputtering noise from above him and looks up at PC Gibbons, who is gasping in shock. "That hotty is a doctor as well?" he says, his voice strained. "You jammy bastard!"

"Do you want me to punch you on the other side of your face?" Joe asks the constable quietly.

"Calm down, Rocky," the doctor says with a chuckle. "You punch him again, you'll probably break your other hand."

She hums as she works, tying off the bandage firmly. "Where does your wife have her practice?"

"Portwenn."

"Beautiful spot. I take my grandchildren there every summer for a mini-holiday," the doctor says with a smile. "Now, you keep this arm in the sling I give you, and make sure you have it looked at in an emergency room within the next 24 hours. I'm going to leave you with a few pain pills to tide you over until you go to the hospital. As long as you're taking them, no driving."

Joe nods his head and stands up from his cot. He awkwardly shakes hands with the doctor, who quickly gathers up her supplies and heads for the door. "And Sergeant," she says, looking back at him. "No more scrapping and fisticuffs."

As soon as she's gone, Sergeant Becker assembles the team to continue grid search work in an area further south of their original site. "Later tonight, you and I will drive to the hospital in Penzance and have your hand x-rayed and set properly," he says to Joe.

_Stirling should be on the train well on her way to London by now._ Joe checks his watch and wishes he was there.


	51. Chapter 51

Stirling slowly opens her eyes, her ears buzzing from the loud noise of the train. Her neck is sore and she absently rubs her fingers against the spot, trying to loosen the cramped muscle.

"You had a nice nap," Louisa says with a smile, looking up from her book.

"How long was I out?" Stirling asks, sitting upright stiffly in her seat.

Louisa checks her watch. "About three or four hours. We're very close to London."

Stirling glances at the empty seat across from her. "Where's the Chief?"

"He's wandered off to the dining car looking for some lunch. I brought some snacks but he thinks we all need something a bit more substantial than cheese, biscuits and cucumber slices."

Cheese, biscuits and cucumbers sounds fantastic to Stirling as her stomach grumbles loudly. She reaches into the bag sitting next to her and pulls out a bottle of water, taking several long gulps. "Which way is the dining car?" she asks, sliding her big belly over awkwardly. "I really should get up and stretch my legs. Maybe I can help the Chief."

"It's up that way," Louisa says, pointing forward. "He's been gone about 15 minutes so I'm not sure if there's a long queue or if he's been sidetracked by something else. With Martin, you never know. He could be performing open heart surgery in the next car."

Stirling smiles at the mental image. She could imagine him doing it too, ordering the train attendant to hold a torch above the patient's chest for added light while some poor volunteer handed him makeshift surgical instruments he scrounged from the dining car.

"I'll see if I can track him down," she says, slowly getting to her feet, trying to balance her body and large belly with the swaying of the train.

"Careful," Louisa says, watching her with some concern.

"I'll be all right," she says cockily over her shoulder as she starts walking down the aisle toward the next car. She actually does fairly well, waddling along, grabbing the odd seat back for balance when the train reaches a rough patch of track or a bend. Eventually, she reaches the dining car where she finds the Doc sitting on a bar stool, reading a tourism magazine about London. He looks up with surprise when she waddles up.

"You're awake," he grunts. "I'm just waiting for our lunch order, which appears to be extremely difficult for the cooks to put together," he adds with a glare toward the kitchen door, located at the far end of the car.

"Do you think you should be wandering up and down the aisles of a moving train in your condition?" he asks sharply.

Stirling smiles slightly to herself. "It was a toss up between the possible danger involved with wandering the aisles or continuing to sit in my seat and risk development of deep vein thrombosis from inactivity."

He nods his head. "Good point."

She bites back a laugh, amused by his solemn seriousness as he considers her situation. She's grateful for the distraction as a uniformed waiter approaches with several bags of food for the Doc.

"Here's your order, sir. I'm sorry about the wait."

"No you're not," the Doc says in return. "You couldn't care less about how long I had to wait." He grabs the bags from the shocked waiter and Stirling takes one from him.

"Are you sure you'll be all right carrying that?" he asks.

"I'm pregnant, not disabled," she grumbles, following after him. She smiles apologetically over her shoulder at the open-mouthed waiter and then hurries after the Doc's tall form, already striding through to the next car.

A few minutes later, she waddles up to their seating area, just slightly out of breath from dodging scampering children and having to push past dozens of parents blocking the aisle as they fought valiantly to control their scampering children. She settles into her seat with a sigh of relief. "I made it back alive, Dr. Livingston," she says with a grin. "And I remembered the supplies."

The Doc frowns at her as she plunks the bag with the rest sitting on the table between them. "Took you long enough."

Louisa gives him a sharp look and is about to say something when Stirling laughs. "I was slowed down a bit by having to climb over the bodies of the people you knocked down on your way through ahead of me."

His frown deepens. "I did not knock anyone down!"

"I don't know," she says uncertainly, shaking her head. "There were an awful lot of unhappy people waving fists at the speck of your retreating back."

Louisa chokes on a laugh, causing the Doc to look at her with concern. "Are you all right?" he asks. "Can you breath okay?"

"I'm fine, Martin," she says, wiping at the tears of mirth in her eyes. As she looks up, Stirling gives her a quick wink, which almost makes her start laughing again. "Let's have lunch," she says brightly.

About 20 minutes later, their sarnis and salads finished, Stirling watches out the window as the train passes through the outer limits of London, crossing over the Thames near Maidenhead and passing through Slough, West Drayton, and Southall on its way to Paddington. It's been a long time since she's seen London traffic and she smiles as the feeling of excitement buildings in her stomach. For good measure, the baby gives her a couple of solid kicks to the ribs as a reminder. _Like I could ever possibly forget about you._ She rubs her belly.

A few minutes later, the train enters the giant, vaulted train station at Paddington and slowly comes to a halt. In consideration of Stirling's condition, the Doc and Louisa wait patiently for most of the passengers to disembark before attempting to navigate the aisle. He goes first, running interference with his tall, imposing figure to ensure no one jostles or pushes her, while Louisa brings up the rear. As they exit the car to the station, Stirling is relieved to see it is at grade, not requiring her to tackle difficult stairs.

With her feet once again firmly on solid ground, Stirling gazes around the platform until she spots what she's looking for – Christopher standing next to two porters holding signs for Dr. M. Ellingham and Dr. S. Aylesworth. She laughs with delight when she sees him and waves like a mad woman. As soon as he sees her, he starts running.

"Ling-Ling," he cries, sliding to a stop in his fancy, highly buffed dress shoes right in front of her. His eyes are wide in disbelief as he stares at her stomach. "You're humongous!" he says, immediately turning to one of the porters behind him. "Go get a wheelchair for Dr. Aylesworth," he barks.

"Christopher!" she says sharply. "Stop! Don't go anywhere," she calls after the porter, who immediately turns and comes back. "I do not need a wheelchair! I am perfectly capable of walking from here to the car. I just need some help with the luggage. And I'm not humongous!" she hisses angrily at Christopher, feeling a strange urge to kick him in the shin.

He looks at her apologetically. "You just took me by surprise. I wasn't expecting you to be so – rotund," he says sheepishly. He gives her a hug and a kiss before shaking hands with the Doc and kissing Louisa's cheek.

The Doc explains the luggage situation and once the porters load everything onto their trolleys, they lead the way from the platform through the main concourse.

"Leyland had to stay with the car," Christopher explains as they dodge and weave around other passengers in the busy station. "As usual, he has managed to charm some parking enforcement officers into letting him stop illegally, explaining he is waiting for a heavily pregnant woman."

"I'm glad my pregnancy has proven to be beneficial in your never ending search for more convenient Bentley parking," Stirling says sarcastically, trying her best to keep up as they exit Paddington through a large door and walk up a sloped platform to street level. She's panting by the time they reach the street. She digs in her bag and takes a quick blast from her puffer, trying to dull the burning feeling in her lungs.

The Doc gives her a sharp look and shakes his head in disgust. "Why didn't you tell us you were having difficulties keeping up?" he asks her angrily. "How bad is the pain?"

"It's fine. Everyone calm down. I just needed to take a quick puff. The pain is gone. I can breath fine." She takes a deep breath, holds it and then lets it out slowly as proof.

The Doc grunts.

Stirling smiles as she sees Leyland standing by the Bentley, which is parked in front of the Paddington Hilton and glinting in the bright spring sunshine. He's chatting with a parking officer and the hotel's doorman. He sees her waddling toward him and excuses himself, walking over and offering his arm as he escorts her to the rear passenger door. "Miss Stirling, you are positively glowing," he says, kissing her cheek before opening the door and helping ease her into the back seat. She sticks her tongue out at Christopher. "Leyland knows what to say to a pregnant woman," she says. "And you're even a paediatrician! You should be ashamed of yourself."

"I'm sorry, Ling-Ling," Christopher says miserably, digging in his wallet to pay the two porters.

Leyland escorts Louisa and the Doc to the other rear door and holds it open while they climb in before he helps Christopher into the front passenger side. After double-checking the luggage is secure in the boot, he slides behind the wheel, starts the Bentley and, with the help of the Hilton's doorman, slowly eases it into the traffic on Praed Street.

Stirling sighs and leans back against the leather seat, closing her eyes. It's good to be back in London, to feel the familiar beat of the city. But it's also exhausting, especially after spending the past two years living at the plodding pace of Portwenn.

"How's Michael?" she asks, leaning forward to chat with Christopher.

"He's at his office today working on some paperwork for a business merger he's involved with for Sainsbury. But don't worry, he promised he'd be home in time for the play tonight."

"And why aren't you busy seeing patients at your office this afternoon?" she teases.

"As chair of the fund raising committee for Chloe's Club, I have dozens of details I have to see to before tomorrow night's festivities, including picking up some of my favourite people at the train station."

"Chloe's Club is the childhood cancer charity that Christopher is involved with," Stirling explains to Louisa. "Chloe used to be a patient of Christopher's. Her parents set up the charity not long after she died and he's been involved in some capacity or other since then."

Leyland turns onto Edgware Road and then onto St. John's Wood Road, heading for Regent's Park.

"How's the old neighbourhood, Leyland?"

"I'm afraid you'll find it much changed, Miss Stirling," the chauffeur says sadly. "A lot of the homes have fallen into disrepair. Developers have come in and are demolishing large sections of the street, two or three properties in a stretch. Our area is still fairly untouched by progress. But Miss Brighten is living at Knotbridge for only a month or so each year and I'm afraid she will soon be putting it on the market. No one wants to live in the grand old houses anymore."

"That's too bad," says Stirling, frowning slightly. "How is Mr. Pierson enjoying his retirement?"

"He's having a grand time," says Leyland animatedly. "I was down to Brighton to visit him a fortnight ago and he is his usual spry self. He doesn't miss Miss Brighten's Pekinese dogs in the least."

She laughs, remembering how much Pierson used to gripe about having to walk those "disgusting washing-up rags with legs" up and down the sidewalk. He had always been hopeful that Bucephalus might eat them.

Leyland negotiates past Regent's Park, heading north, and turns onto Fitzjohn's Avenue, aiming for Hampstead.

"Have you found a new golfing partner?"

Leyland laughs. "That has proven to be quite the challenge, Miss Stirling," he says. "Miss Brighten's new man is not in the least interested in the game, I'm afraid. So I have had to go further afield. Mr. Desmond's cook, a Miss Abigale, is a rather good golfer. We've been managing to get a few games in a week."

"A rather good golfer? That's high praise coming from you," Stirling says with a laugh. "And golfing with a woman? You rascal! Have you asked her to dinner yet? Or, better yet, has she made you something?"

"Miss Stirling!" Leyland says with a frown. "Miss Abigale is about your age. I doubt very much her interests lie toward romance with an old man on the putting green!"

She laughs with delight, amused she has actually managed to offend Leyland, which she thought was impossible to do.

"I didn't know Mr. Leyland golfed," Louisa whispers.

"If the weather was suitable, he usually golfed every day when Michael and Christopher were visiting in Portwenn. He's a member of the Highgate Golf Club, which is located just behind Heathcliff. He usually drives the golf cart out the back gate when he wants to play a round. And he also has a membership at the Hampstead Golf Course as well, which is just a few blocks over from the house. You don't golf, do you Chief?" she asks.

"No," he says bluntly, pulling a face without realizing it. His father had been an avid golfer and the thought of doing anything his late father once enjoyed made the Doc's skin crawl.

"I don't either, not anymore," Stirling says, gazing out the car window as the Bentley cruises through the dense forest between Sandy Heath and Hampstead Heath. "Spencer and I used to play. Such a silly cliché, two doctors golfing. He thought it would be good for networking with hospital executives and other consultants. And he was right. But I ended up loathing it and gave it up."

Christopher looks over his shoulder in amazement. This is the first time he has heard Stirling talk about Spencer in a long time. To have her so casually mention him in a conversation surprises him. And gives him hope.

"Miss Stirling is an excellent golfer," Leyland says as he turns left at the North Wood onto The Bishops Avenue. "But I can never convince her to play a round with me."

Stirling leans forward in anticipation as the car travels down the busy road. "We're almost there," she says turning to Louisa, her eyes dancing with excitement. As she watches the different gated lanes go by, she realizes that Leyland is right – the neighbourhood has changed in the two years since she was last there. Long stretches of the road are lined with tall green construction barriers to keep people from entering the properties, marked as under demolition.

"Oh Leyland," she says sadly. "The Towers, the Georgians, Redcroft."

"They're all gone, miss," he says, driving past another section of construction barrier, this one decorated with a large for sale sign. "They sat vacant and they rotted away. Heath Hall has been vacant and for sale for the past year," he adds, nodding toward the huge, gated mansion they are currently passing on the right side of the road.

"Michael's gone absolutely rabid about the whole thing so I wouldn't bring up the subject if I were you," says Christopher. "He spends a lot of time writing to the local council about property standards and resale value. He also grumbles a lot about ancestors spinning in their graves. What he doesn't understand is that people don't want to live in big mansions anymore. Or can't afford to."

Stirling is practically vibrating in her seat as Leyland signals a right turn, pressing a button on a small controller clipped to the sun visor above his head. A large iron gate slowly moves across, opening access to a shaded lane. He drives the Bentley between two large stone pillars, pressing the button again once the car is fully through the opening, the gate shutting behind them.

The Doc and Louisa glance at each other in disbelief before turning to stare at the huge red brick mansion Leyland parks the Bentley in front of. "Oh my God!" the Doc mutters quietly.

"Welcome to Heathcliff Hall," Stirling says with a grin as Leyland opens the car door for her, helping her out of the back seat. She moves toward the front door, staring up at the house's imposing facade. "Hello old friend," she whispers. "It's been too long."

Once everyone is out of the car, Leyland opens the boot and starts removing luggage. "I'll show you to your rooms," Christopher says, opening the front door for them. "Leyland will be up shortly with your bags."

The main foyer hasn't changed much, Stirling notes, wandering into the conservatory to the right. She smiles at the covered grand piano, tempted to pull off the sheet, open the keyboard and play. _Maybe later._ She glances at the walls, noticing some new artwork.

"Are you coming, Stirling?" Christopher asks, poking his head through the doorway.

"Am I staying in my old room?" she asks, gazing at a stunning oil painting of the harbour at Portwenn. She smiles, noting the signature of an artist from the village, one of her patients.

"Yes," says Christopher. "The equine room."

"I'll be up later. Take care of the Chief and Louisa. I'm fine."

"Leyland will take up your bags, okay?"

"Perfect," she says, stopping at another oil, this one featuring cloud shadows racing across Bodmin moor. Another Cornwall artist, she notes.

Eventually she wanders over to a sideboard crammed with framed photos. She smiles as she notes the numerous new ones that have joined the collection, including a photo of her and Joe sitting on the Triumph, taken on their wedding day. It's one of her favourites. Their engagement photo is also on display plus one she sent to the boys taken when Joe officially received his sergeant's stripes and medal. She gasps when she notices the candid photo of her and Bucephalus, taken on the green along the coastal path above Portwenn. Her eyes sting as she picks up the frame to examine the picture closer. She vaguely remembers the day, and feels a shock of emotion when she realizes Joe must have taken the photo. _How did the boys end up with a copy?_

As she sets the framed photo back, Stirling realizes she's exhausted. For added measure, the baby chooses that moment to start a barrage of abuse to the front of her stomach. She touches her hand to her belly. "Okay, okay, I hear you," she whispers. "I'm going to have a lie down right now."

She waddles slowly out of the conservatory and up the stairs in the foyer, turning to enter the south wing of the house on the first floor. She passes by the Blue Room, smiling as she hears the deep rumble of the Chief's voice as he talks with Louisa. Further down the hall, at the end, is the Equine Room, named after the numerous horse prints and paintings that cover the walls. It's also unofficially known as the Stirling Room, in honour of her portrait, which hangs above the gas fireplace in a small sitting area off the bedroom.

She stands in front of the life size acrylic painting commissioned by Michael when she was just 15 and stares, trying to find even a glimpse of her current self in the face and eyes of the youngster in front of her. She admits it's a realistic portrait of her at that age. She is dressed in dressage garb – top hat, white shirt, cravat and black tail coat, her hair pulled back in a snood. Her forehead is pressed against the forehead of her mount, Hannibal's Heart, a coal black stallion with a stripe of chrome down his face. He is wearing a full double bridle, his mane painstakingly formed, tied and hooked into button braids, ready for competition. One of her housemates had taken the photo while she and Hannibal were waiting to compete during a three-day event competition. They had been representing Wyecombe Abbey. Her friend had given a copy of the photo to Michael, aware of his fondness for Stirling. He in turn had found a well-known artist willing to work from several photos rather than a live model. And this was the end result. She knows there is also a folder of pencil drawings of the artist's initial sketches stored elsewhere in the house.

At the time, the painting had caused quite the scandal with Michael's parents, who were horrified when he hung the portrait in his rooms at Oxford. He defied their orders and displayed the portrait wherever he lived right up until their deaths. The portrait moved here when he inherited Heathcliff Hall and the Aubrey country estate, where his younger sister and her husband currently live and manage the large property's active farm.

When Stirling began to visit with Michael and Christopher, the painting was moved to her room, where it's resided for the past 10 years.

"That's me," she says softly, caressing her belly. "Your silly mum many, many years ago when she had more courage than brains. The horse's name was Hannibal. He was a great mount but unfortunately wasn't mine; I was only allowed to borrow him. When I went away to university, your Uncle Michael offered to buy him for me but I said no. I had nowhere to keep such a horse in London! Your Uncle Michael was silly; he still is."

She pauses for a moment, staring at the portrait. "Maybe some day I'll teach you to ride, although I'm sure your daddy won't like that idea."

She eventually turns and pulls back the duvet on her bed. She checks her watch – half two in the afternoon. She still has a bit of time to rest before getting ready for dinner and their planned evening at the theatre. She sighs and closes her eyes, her arms wrapped protectively around her stomach.


	52. Chapter 52

Even with it supported in the sling, Joe's hand is killing him as he stumbles through the tall grass, searching a field adjacent to the coastal trail. His team has moved about two miles further south of their search grid of a few days ago. He's been moved to the east side of the line, the search track furthest from the cliff edge.

As he stops to dig the bottle of pain pills from his pocket, he glances toward the nearest farmstead, located about half a mile away. _That place looks familiar._ He fishes out a pill and popping it into his mouth, quickly washing it down with a few gulps of bottled water. As he looks at the house and outbuildings, he realizes it's the farm he canvassed a day or two ago where the crazy old lady had told him about the wailing ghosts and her missing cousin.

"Bryce probably did a runner rather than live out his days sharing a farmhouse with a kooky old bird like her," he mutters.

And suddenly, he feels himself falling, pain shooting up his body and into his brain as his injured arm slams against the ground. "Bloody hell!" he shouts in agony and surprise.

"Are you okay, Sarge?" his closest team member, PC Tuinhoff, yells. "Sarge?"

Feeling like a complete idiot, Joe tries to get to his feet but realizes he can't. His body is stuck waist deep in the soil, only the support of his two elbows keeping him from falling further. "Officer down," he shouts. "I'm in need of some assistance here."

And then he's looking up into PC Tuinhoff's amused face. "How in the hell did you end up down there, Sarge?" he asks, offering a hand to pull him up. But despite several attempts, he can't get Joe to move.

Sergeant Becker and the other men in the team have stopped their grid search and are staring at PC Tuinhoff with surprise and amusement.

"Put your back into it, mate," Sergeant Becker yells toward him, laughing. "Sergeant Penhale isn't that heavy."

"I can't get him to budge, sir," the constable yells back apologetically. "I'm going to need some help."

Soon, the entire team is surrounding Joe and, with some combined effort, manages to pull him up out of the ground. As soon as his body is clear of the hole, Sergeant Becker is on his hands and knees, shining his torch down into the darkness. "What the hell have you found, Penhale?"

Joe crawls up on his knees beside him and shines his torch down as well. "It looks like some kind of tunnel or cave," he says as a memory niggles in the back of his mind. He sits back and thinks while the rest of the team take turns looking down in the hole.

"My wife and I honeymooned in this area back in January," he says seemingly out of nowhere. His team members turn to look at him in surprise.

"Well, good for you, Sarge," PC Gibbons jokes, making the loopy finger sign beside his head.

Joe looks up and gives him a dirty look. "Stirling told me some interesting information about this area. She read that in St. Just, underground caves have been found dating back several centuries. They were used for storage or hiding people and valuables from marauding groups. As well, she read that this entire area is littered with open mine shafts and mine workings. It was in some book on the history of mining in Cornwall. Plus the walking guide we were using clearly stated that trekkers should not wander off the trails due to past mining activities around the Cot Valley, which is where we are."

"What if this couple walked off the trail and into a hole, similar to this one," he suggests, warming to his topic. "I canvassed this area a day or so ago and the old bird that lives over there," he says, waving his hand in the general direction of the farmhouse, "said she heard wailing a few nights back. She said it was ghosts. What if it was two people shouting for help up a mine shaft or an open hole from a cave-in?"

Sergeant Becker stares at him in amazement. "You think they fell in an old mining hole?"

Joe shrugs. "It's possible."

"What about the mobile? And the earring and the crushed area of grass you found north of here?"

"Perhaps the mobile just fell out of his pocket," he says. "And maybe we're unable to get a signal from hers because it's underground."

Joe blushes slightly. "And maybe she lost her earring and we found crushed grass because they stopped to – you know – snog a bit. They're a young couple on holiday from London exploring the wilds of Cornwall. Maybe they felt a bit randy and had a tumble together in the weeds." He looks around. "It's isolated up here, not a lot of people walking by. So they wander off the trail, decide to get starkers and have a shag."

Now the whole search team is staring at him. "You speaking from experience there, Sarge?" PC Gibbons asks with a lewd wink.

Joe doesn't even bother acknowledging him. "What are you thinking, Becker?"

"That maybe we should start checking the ground between here and that farmhouse," says Sergeant Becker with a grin.

It takes them two hours to find the hole. As they shine they're torches down into the darkness, they shout the couple's names: "Martin! Tara!"

Joe thinks he hears something. With the support of his fellow team mates, he leans further into the opening, shining his torch around as he tries to determine how deep the hole is and how wide. He sees a flash of red and moves his torch back.

"There's somebody down here!" he shouts, as two police constables pull him back up. "Better call it in, Becker. I think we found them. And Bryce."

* * *

Stirling looks at herself in the full-length mirror and flinches. _I look like a red round ball with a head, arms and legs._ She examines her red blouse flared with multiple layers of chiffon. Underneath, she's wearing black stretch breeches with high black boots. She decides to plait her hair back on each side into a low ponytail and then tops off her outfit with a dressy black hat.

She examines herself in the mirror again and sighs. _It will have to do_.

Grabbing her long, black dress coat, she slowly clomps down the stairs to the main floor, looking in the formal living room and conservatory for anyone else. She is obviously the first ready.

She wanders into the conservatory and removes the dust cover from the grand piano, setting the rolled up sheet on a nearby chair. She adjusts the position of the bench until she's comfortable, her large belly not quite touching the wooden edge near the keyboard. Her feet can still touch the pedals. She closes her eyes and begins to play – Schubert Impromptu in A Flat Major. She can feel the baby kick as she starts but as she continues to play, he stills, as if lulled by the music. At one point, she looks up to see Leyland standing in the doorway in full chauffeur uniform, a rare occurrence, listening to her play. She smiles and bends back to the keys.

As she plays the final flourish of the song, she is surprised to hear applause. She looks up to see the Doc, Louisa, Michael and Christopher sitting or standing around the room. "How long have you been there? About five minutes ago, it was only Leyland."

"Well, he's brought the car around and we were just waiting for you to finish," explains Michael, giving a start of surprise as she rises from the piano bench. "Are you okay to walk?" he asks. "That looks like quite a load you're carrying."

She gives him a dirty look. "Don't tell me you're going to pull the inconsiderate, unfeeling cad act as well? It was bad enough when Christopher did it. Now you too?"

He smiles and walks up to Stirling, kissing her tenderly on the cheek. "You're so easy to tease, Ling-Ling. I blame it on your current condition. Christy told me about his horrible gaffe at the train station and I wanted to see how far I could get before you bit back. Not very far, it would seem. You look beautiful, darling, absolutely glowing and gorgeous."

Stirling smiles and gives him a quick peck on the lips. "Flattery will get you everything, dear Michael," she says with a laugh.

He escorts her out to the Bentley and helps her into the back seat beside Louisa and the Doc before settling into one of the back facing jump seats. Christopher sits in the front passenger seat again.

"To the Savoy," Michael orders with a smile as Leyland pulls out of the driveway, heading downtown to the Covent Garden area and The Strand.

It's a fairly lengthy drive and they spend it chatting about life in London, Michael describing with great levity his latest legal cases involving a wide array of colourful characters. They also talk about the newest happenings in Cornwall, including Joe's latest investigation. "It's been a few days since I last heard from him," Stirling admits quietly. "They thought they had found a crime scene and special officers had been called in to examine any evidence. Hopefully they catch a break soon and find that poor couple."

The car is quiet for a moment until Stirling decides to change the subject by asking Michael and Christopher about the latest theatre and opera they had been to. Michael soon has everyone relaxed and enjoying themselves again. It seems only a few minutes later, Leyland pulls the Bentley up along the side of The Strand near the front entrance of the Savoy Hotel.

"I'm afraid this is as close as I can get, Miss Stirling," he says as he helps her out of the back of the car. "The Bentley doesn't have a tight enough turning radius to drive into Savoy Court."

"We can walk, Leyland, don't worry," she says, kissing his cheek as he escorts her to the sidewalk. Michael says a few words to the chauffeur before patting him on the shoulder. He takes Stirling's right arm in his while Christopher grabs her left and the pair walks with her along Savoy Court to the entrance of the Savoy Grill, the Doc and Louisa walking behind.

"Fancy," Stirling says to Michael as he escorts her through the door into the restaurant. "That tosser Ramsey isn't going to be here tonight, is he?" she whispers. "I'd hate to see you two go at it over cold potato soup or something."

"I doubt he's here, Ling-Ling," Michael says with a laugh. "He's probably too busy screaming at one of his chefs at another restaurant."

Michael goes to the front desk to see about their reservation and they are soon being led to a private booth area in a quiet corner. Stirling eyes the spacing between the seat and the table and compares it to her round belly. The host instantly notices and makes an adjustment, allowing her more room. "Thank you," she says blushing slightly.

"My pleasure, miss," he says, with a slight bow as he distributes the dinner and wine menus. "Your server will be with you shortly."

The Doc looks mildly uncomfortable as he gazes around the fancy restaurant with its wood panelling, bright white tablecloths and elaborate chandeliers. "We can't afford to eat here," he whispers to Louisa, who blushes slightly.

"Don't worry, Chief," Stirling whispers from his other side. "Dinner's on Michael."

He whips his head around quickly to glare at her. "That's not necessary," he whispers back.

"Yes it is," Michael whispers from across the table. "You're our guests. Our treat. But why are we whispering?"

Stirling tries hard not to giggle as the Doc prepares to argue his case. "That's very kind of you Michael and Christopher," says Louisa, cutting in before her husband can speak. "Thank you."

"You've always been very kind to us when we've been up in Portwenn visiting with Ling-Ling," Christopher says. "We'd like to return the courtesy."

Disaster averted, the group sits back and enjoys a leisurely and enjoyable meal, covering every topic from medicine to politics. Even the Doc adds a few comments now and then.

After paying, Michael and Christopher escort their guests next door to the Savoy Theatre for a performance of the latest big musical comedy to open in London's West End. The seats are fantastic and Stirling finds herself laughing and enjoying herself for the first time in days. At the intermission, she is desperate to use the loo and her stomach actually hurts from all the laughing. She's even nervous about drinking any water, afraid she'll have to revisit the facilities before the end of the production.

She's exhausted at of the evening, barely able to keep her eyes open on the drive home. Michael smiles as he watches her head bob in the back seat of the Bentley. "Long day Ling-Ling?" he asks.

"Very!" she says with a rueful laugh. "But it was wonderful. Thank you so much for dinner and the theatre. It's been so long since I've been to a West End play." She leans over and gives Michael a big hug and kiss.

Later that night, as she prepares for bed, she checks her mobile and sees she has a text. She frowns, wondering why she didn't hear the tell-tale ping and realizes her mobile is on vibrate. "Damn," she mutters, opening the text. Her heart sinks in disappointment. It's from Joe, dated three hours ago.

**We found them** it simply states with an attached photo of Joe and a small group of other officers, all clad in black fatigues and covered in dirt and mud, carrying a stretcher with a young woman on it. A second stretcher can be seen behind them with another person on it.

Stirling feels a flare of excitement. _They found them! Joe will be coming home! And I'm in London. _She frowns slightly but shakes it off. _He'll probably be up there for another day or so doing clean-up or some such nonsense_.

**Congratulations!** she types back. **That's fantastic! When are you coming home?** She flinches as she reads it. _I sound so desperate, so needy._ She cringes. _But I am desperate and needy! I'm eight months pregnant. I cry during fundraising commercials for animal sanctuaries. Why should I feel bad for missing my husband?_ Even so, she erases the last sentence and hits send.

She snuggles under the duvet, setting her mobile on the bedside table before shutting off the lights. She smiles in the darkness. _Joe's coming home!_

Suddenly, she sits upright in the bed, snaps on the bedside lamp and reaches for her mobile. She scrolls back to the text and the photo. She squints at the screen, manipulating her fingers to make the photo bigger and zoom in on a small section. She moves even closer to the screen, squinting harder.

_Is that a sling Joe's wearing on his left arm? Why would he need a sling?_

* * *

As far as Sergeant Becker is concerned, Joe is a hero. As far as the detectives and inspectors are concerned, they should have been called in sooner. As far as Joe is concerned, he just wants to go to the hospital and then go home to Portwenn and his wife.

He is sitting in the waiting room of the x-ray department at the Penzance hospital, patiently waiting for film of his hand to be processed and released, when he hears the familiar ping of his mobile. _Message_.

He manages to dig the object out of his dusty black fatigue pants and unlock it. It's a text from Stirling: **Congratulations! That's fantastic!**

He smiles and then notices the location where the text originated from and his pain-riddled and befuddled mind suddenly remembers – Stirling isn't in Portwenn.

"Bloody hell! She's in London!" he growls, causing several people in the room to glare at him.

"Who is?" asks Sergeant Becker.

"Stirling!" Joe groans, sinking his head into his right hand. He glances at his watch. "She would have left yesterday morning."

"What's she doing in London?"

"She's attending a benefit organized by a close friend. It's raising money to fund a cancer support centre for young people, teenagers. We were both supposed to go, our last outing together before the baby arrives. But I was called in."

"Who knows how much longer I'm going to be waiting here," he says impatiently, this hand throbbing. "I still need a cast. By the time I get to Bodmin, it will be too late to get a train."

"We'll get you there, mate," says Becker, looking down the row of chairs at the other team members who are lounging around the waiting room. "Won't we?"

"Just drop me off in Bodmin on your way by," says PC Elmherst. "I really need to get home to the wife and ankle biters."

"No worries," says Becker. "Anyone else not interested in a field trip to London?"

PC Tuinhoff and PC Gibbons, both single, are keen.

"There you go," says the Sergeant confidently. "It's a go. Once we're finished here, we'll drive Elmherst home to the honey and hit the A30 toward London."

"Are you sure?" Joe asks uncertainly.

"Penhale, I haven't been to London in a dog's age. These two wet-behind-the-ears idiots have probably never been. We've spent the past five days wading through wet grass and mud, sleeping on hard cots at a golf course, falling into mine shafts and tunnels, getting covered in dirt. I think we deserve a road trip to London, even if it is just overnight."

"Thanks Becker," Joe says, offering to shake with his right hand.

"Penhale, Joseph?" the nurse calls, holding a large envelope for him. "Take this back down to emergency and give it to your attending physician. They'll take care of you. You're definitely going to need a cast. It's pretty swollen and tender. You should have come in sooner."

"We were involved in an important investigation," Sergeant Becker explains. "This officer was key in finding those two missing hikers that I believe are currently being treated elsewhere in the hospital."

"Good work, Sergeant," the nurse says, making Joe blush slightly. "Now off you go and get that hand looked after."

The group trudges back to the emergency room and the doctor who originally accessed Joe examines him again. The physician flinches as he looks at the x-rays. "That looks nasty and sore," he says. "And very swollen. It looks like a typical boxer's fracture. You've broken two of your knuckles. But I don't think I'll need to re-break it, which is good."

Joe breathes an audible sigh of relief.

"I'll get a couple of nurses in here to help me. I'm going to give you a shot to numb the pain but it's still going to hurt, Sergeant, so be prepared."

Joe's not liking the sound of this.

It takes the doctor, two nurses and Becker to hold him down to fit the splint support on his hand and then apply the cast. The doctor finishes up by wrapping the cast with gauze to keep it clean.

"You're probably going to need to keep this on for about a month. Have your local GP look at it and he'll tell you when it should be removed. Take these with you," the doctor adds, handing him his x-rays. "Your doctor will want to see them."

"Yes, she will," mutters Joe, already imagining Stirling's reaction to the cast.

"Good luck, Sergeant, and try to keep out of any more fights."

It's daylight as the five officers exit the hospital. Joe glances at his watch as they climb into the police patrol wagon. It's half nine in the morning. He groans as he swallows another pain pill and leans back against the back of the front passenger seat. It's about five and a half hours to London and they still have to stop in Bodmin. They'll be cutting it close.


	53. Chapter 53

Stirling enjoys a wonderful lie in on Saturday morning, basking in the warmth and comfort of her bed, teetering just on the edge of consciousness. She stretches leisurely and reaches out to the other side of the bed. Empty. She opens her eyes and looks. _Damn! It was a dream_.

With quite a bit of effort, she manages to sit upright in the bed and wiggle her legs over the side. _I'm working up a sweat just trying to get out of the bloody bed._

She's feeling grump as she waddles to the loo.

Five minutes later, she stands staring into her suitcase, trying to decide what to wear. She plans to visit the Royal Festival Hall after lunch to meet up with Duncan and the rest of Strip Search during the band's rehearsal time. She's planning on staying with them until the fundraising dinner begins at five o'clock. The music and dancing is expected to start an hour later.

She decides to dress comfortably, pulling on a pair of maternity jeans and an oversized black Depeche Mode T-shirt. She also shrugs into a comfy dark green button-up sweater of Joe's she has claimed as her own. In her rucksack, she packs the outfit she plans to wear tonight. She manages to contort herself enough to zip up her tall boots before plopping an old wool fedora on her head and clomping downstairs to the kitchen.

She's surprised to find Christopher in front of the cooker, micro-managing an omelet while Leyland reads The Times at the small breakfast nook. Michael's also seated at the small table, drinking a tea and perusing The Guardian.

"Good morning! Why are you all hiding in here?"

Michael doesn't even look up from his newspaper. "Christy's afraid of your Chief. He's been skulking about in here waiting for you to come down before he'll go in the dining room."

"You're joking!" Stirling says, shocked.

Christy looks up from the cooker. "What on Earth are you wearing? You look like an eight-month-along pregnant woman who's ready to go clubbing."

Leyland and Michael instantly look up from their newspapers.

"Is that my old Depeche Mode concert shirt?" Michael asks. "I wondered where that went."

"I found it in Leyland's rag bag years ago," she says, grabbing a piece of bacon from a plate on the counter and shoving it in her mouth. "Come on you spineless wankers. Be good hosts and eat brekkie with your guests."

She grabs Michael's arm and manages to pull him up out of his chair while also dragging Christopher away from the cooker. She pushes them both through the swinging door into the dining room where the Doc and Louisa sit eating their breakfast and leafing through a few of the other morning newspapers.

"Good morning Chief, Louisa," she says cheerfully, settling into a chair at the large, formal table. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes," says Louisa with a smile. "The room is very comfortable, thank you."

The Doc looks up from his newspaper and grunts. "What on Earth are you wearing? You look like a pregnant gangster."

Stirling laughs before Louisa can reprimand her husband.

"Thank goodness! That's exactly the look I was going for."

Michael and Christopher both choke back laughs as they fill their plates from chafing dishes lined up on top of the buffet.

They've just settled at the table when Leyland walks through the door with The Times tucked under his arm. Noticing Stirling is without any food, he quickly fills a plate from the selection at the buffet and delivers it to her. "I thought you might be interested in the article on page 3, Miss Stirling," he says, handing her the newspaper along with breakfast. "It mentions Mr. Joe."

She looks up at him with wide-eyed surprise. "Really?" she almost whispers.

All movement at the table ceases as the others watch her grab the newspaper with trembling hands and open it impatiently to page 3. She laughs with delight.

"There he is!" she cries with excitement, folding over the page so they can all see the large photo of Joe and his fellow search team. She notes the sling on his left arm. "He sent me a message last night saying they had found the missing hikers but he didn't say how. Or why his arm is in a sling."

"Knowing your Sergeant, he probably fell down some hole," Michael says dryly.

Stirling glares across the table at him before bending her head to read the article. They all watch her as she reads excitedly, her eyes moving swiftly left to right. After a few lines, she blushes.

"He did fall down a hole," she says to Michael, looking somewhat embarrassed. "But because of that, they found the hikers. They'd fallen down a similar abandoned mineshaft. The search team came up with the idea to look for recent cave-ins after Joe fell in one."

She keeps reading, frowning slightly.

"They also found the body of a local man who's been missing for several years. Seems this Bryce fellow fell in the mineshaft, broke his back, and lay there for days. It's believed he died after no one was able to find him."

She shudders, feeling a bit sick to her stomach at the idea.

"Anyway, the two hikers are alive and well and being treated at hospital in Penzance for minor injuries and dehydration. And it was Joe's search team that saved the day. Aces!"

Louisa smiles at her enthusiasm, realizing it's the perkiest she's seen Stirling in days. _It's more than the pregnancy that's been dragging her down. She's been pining for Joe._

"Can I see that article?" the Doc asks, reaching across the table.

"Certainly!" Stirling practically vibrates in her chair with excitement as she hands it to him. _Joe's coming home! I'll be able to see him again tomorrow evening!_

* * *

Joe is completely zonked out across the rear seat as the police van pulls back onto the A30 just outside of Bodmin. The painkillers have finally kicked in and he's been snoring quietly for the past hour, much to PC Gibbons' great disgust.

"I wish I could have some painkillers for my face," the young officer mutters bitterly, rubbing at his swollen jaw.

"We all wish we could have some painkillers for your face," PC Tuinhoff quips, causing Sergeant Becker to burst into laughter. He quickly looks back in the rear view mirror, relieved to see Joe is still asleep, despite the noise.

"Keep it down," he growls. "We don't want to wake up sleeping beauty. He's finally calmed down enough to nod off. I don't want him hovering over my shoulder again, urging me to go faster."

"Sleeping beauty, my arse; more like sleeping wanker," PC Gibbons mumbles grumpily.

"What do you have against the Sarge?" PC Tuinhoff asks, looking over his shoulder into the middle seating area. "You've been practically up his bum since this assignment started. Teasing him about where he lives, making rude comments about his missus. Hell, we had a pool going on when he was actually going to pound you. He held off longer than any of us thought he would."

"If anyone's been acting like a wanker, it's been you," adds Sergeant Becker.

PC Gibbons glares at the two men sitting in front of him, flipping them the two-finger salute.

"I saw that," Sergeant Becker says with a laugh.

PC Gibbons lets out a deep sigh. "I really don't have anything against the bloke. He just seems to keep turning up in my life like an annoying rash. A year back, he was receiving his sergeant stripes the same time I was being sworn in. During the ceremony, there was this stunning posh bird in the audience. And I thought she was making eyes at my mate and me. So we started making eyes back. Ended up disrupting the ceremony. We got a dressing down afterwards I'll remember until the end of time. Turns out, she was making eyes at the Sarge, who was sitting right behind us."

"You silly tosser!" Sergeant Becker says as he and PC Tuinhoff start laughing.

"She's now his missus," PC Gibbons whines, making the two men laugh even harder.

"Then, about five months ago, a short-term posting came up for the Sarge's patch, Portwenn. I lost out to that crazy anorak, Garrett; seems he's worked there before. And then the jammy bastard meets this incredibly bang-tidy piece of arse while on patrol in the village."

The two officers in the front seat snicker some more.

"I almost fell over when the Sarge showed up as part of the recruit pool for the Special Ops selection, snoggin' with his now pregnant missus in the car park. After two weeks on the moor, I almost forgave him for having one of the finest examples of sex on legs. But then I meet this fetchin' bird at a salon where I stop in to get a haircut. We're getting friendly and she seems interested. We go out a couple of times and then I find out she's his ex-wife."

Sergeant Becker and PC Tuinhoff are now practically weeping from laughing so hard.

"Keep laughin'. I'm still seeing that bit of skirt," PC Gibbons says with a grin. "I'm thinking about taking her to the Policeman's Ball."

Sergeant Becker looks back at him in the rear view mirror with a frown. "You're playing with fire, Gibbons. And I don't mean with the Sarge – he's completely gaga over his missus and won't give a duck who you bring. But if you're using that bird and she finds out, she'll give you a hurting you won't soon forget. Don't screw over a woman, mate. They always get even in the end."

PC Gibbons looks offended. "That's not it at all. I like the bint. She's a lot of fun."

"Now I'm curious; what made you decide to come along on the trip?" asks PC Tuinhoff.

PC Gibbons looks at him like he's mad. "Are you kiddin'? I've never been up to the Smoke. I'm not passin' up on an opportunity to do that!"

The three men fall into a comfortable silence as the van motors toward London, Joe still sprawled out and snoring in the back.

* * *

Stirling shakes her head and chuckles softly to herself as Leyland follows her onto the lift, her guitar case in one hand, rucksack in the other.

"You do realize I am perfectly capable of carrying that myself?"

"And I am perfectly capable of carrying it for you, Miss Stirling," Leyland says patiently, pressing the button for the second floor.

She braces her legs shoulder length apart as the lift begins to move. _My balance is definitely not as good as it used to be._ Her stomach lurches, and the baby kicks hard, as the lift comes to a stop and the doors open.

Guitar music echoes out of a large opening two doors wide that leads through to a giant ballroom. As Stirling walks through, she notices a stage at the far end of the room. It's crowded with musicians jamming to The Eagles' _Hotel California_.

"Sounds like life with Strip Search," she says loudly during a lull in the music. "You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave."

Duncan looks up from his electric guitar and grins. "Stirling!" He gives a double take when he notices her stomach. "There are two of you! In the same body!"

"Yes, it is getting rather crowded in here," she says with a laugh, looking down and rubbing her belly.

Duncan jumps down from the stage – followed by Toby, Erick and a few other members of the band – and gives her a big hug. "It's great to see you again, duck. How long has it been? A year?"

"It's been five months, Duncan," she says laughing.

"Oh. Why does it feel longer than that?"

"Oy, Duncan, look! She has her own guitar caddy," Toby says, gesturing toward Leyland, who is standing discreetly to the side.

The lead guitarist gives the bassist a dirty look. "That's no caddy! Leyland, how have you been? Is that goofy uncle of mine treating you okay? As soon as you get tired of babysitting him and the devil's sidekick, you can come take care of me, all right?"

"Yes, Mr. Duncan," Leyland says evenly, suddenly reminding Stirling of P.G. Wodehouse's long-suffering Reginald Jeeves.

As the baby presses painfully at a tender spot between two ribs, she suddenly wishes she had her own Jeeves, who was also a trained midwife. And masseuse. She glances over Duncan's shoulder.

"It looks like the band's grown. A lot!"

He grins. "We brought in some extras for this event. I wanted to give Uncle Christy a good show for his fette. But we do have a new singer. You have to meet her."

Putting his arm around her shoulders, he slowly herds her toward the stage, where various people are setting up microphone stands, instruments, speakers and other equipment.

"Those aren't actual roadies, are they?" Stirling asks in awe.

"We're going all out for this gig, Stirling," brags Erick.

"So it would seem."

"Becca," Duncan shouts, waving to a petite woman rushing by. She's cute in a pixie kind-of way with a curly mop of red hair and a face full of freckles. She's carrying a plastic crate filled with microphone cords.

"Becca, this is Stirling. Stirling, meet Becca. Stirling used to be lead singer of Strip Search before she ran off to Cornwall to become a doctor or some such nonsense. Let this be a lesson to you," he says, giving the small red head a serious look. "If you ever leave the band for any reason, within a year you'll end up living in some backwater fishing village, married to a plod and up the duff."

"Nice!" Stirling says laughing. "Why don't you just petrify the poor girl? And you make it sound like living in Portwenn with Joe and being pregnant is a bad thing."

They all look back at her with serious faces.

"It isn't! Really!"

Becca laughs. "Nice to meet you," she says in a throaty, sexy voice, shaking Stirling's hand. "I've heard a lot about you. The blokes at the Bristol Bobby really miss you. I just can't fill your boots when it comes to performing _I Want You To Want Me_."

She looks down at Stirling's high boots before moving up to her large belly. "And now I see why."

The two women laugh comfortably together. _I like this one, she has spunk. And she needs it with this lot._

Stirling turns back toward Leyland. "I'll take those off your hands now," she says, reaching for her guitar case and bag.

He moves past her toward the stage, keeping the items from her grasp. "Where would be a suitable place to set Miss Stirling's belongings, Mr. Duncan?" he asks.

Duncan quickly shows Leyland up to the backstage area while Toby and Erick stay with Stirling.

"You going to jam with us, sexy?" Toby asks with a grin.

"Absobloodylutely," she answers enthusiastically. "I've been looking forward to this for weeks."

Duncan walks back to the group followed closely by Leyland.

"Maybe we can get you to play some piano for us later tonight," the lead guitarist suggests.

"You mean up on stage?"

"Sure! Why not?"

Leyland frowns with disapproval.

"I'd bloody well love it!" Her brow wrinkles slightly. "I'm not all that nimble at the moment so don't expect any fancy dance moves."

"All you have to do is sit at the piano and bang on the keys," Duncan assures her. "We'd love to have you."

_If I could still jump up and down, I would!_

Leyland clears his throat politely.

"Miss Stirling, do you think it's wise to be exerting yourself performing publicly while in your current condition?" he asks, looking concerned. "You are only five weeks away from your due date."

"It would only be for a few songs, Leyland," says Duncan. "And she'd be sitting on a piano bench the whole time. My god, you're acting like an old woman!"

"I'm not sure how your uncle and Mr. Michael are going to feel about this," the chauffeur says, giving Duncan a warning look.

"Enough with the faffing!" Stirling says loudly, standing between Duncan and Leyland. "I can't stand fussing."

She turns to Duncan, "It will only be for a few songs; that's it! And if I find I can't physically do it, I'll have to bow out. Okay?"

He nods his head.

She turns to Leyland. "It will only be for a few songs. I'll be sitting down the whole time. I will be perfectly fine. And so will the baby."

He doesn't look convinced. "What would Mr. Joe say?"

_That's part of the problem. Mr. Joe isn't here._

* * *

Joe sits in the back of the police van, frantically trying to remember the information he's searching for in his brain. _Where is the benefit being held?_

"It's Royal something," he says, flinching as the van goes over a bump, jarring his broken hand.

"That's the name of half the bloody buildings in the city, you wally!" PC Tuinhoff says with a laugh as he gazes out the side window at the busy street.

Desperate, Joe rings home.

"Arthur?" he shouts into his mobile as music blasts in his ear. "Arthur? Turn down the bloody music!"

He's silent for a moment, waiting.

"Thanks. It's Sergeant Penhale. You're not having a beano at my house are you? Are you sure? The music was pretty loud. Arthur, listen, I need your help. What's the name of the place where Dr. Bond is having his benefit? There should be flyer on the refrigerator."

Joe waits impatiently for PC Garrett to check.

"The Royal Festival Hall? Brilliant! What's the address?"

He inputs the information into his mobile's GPS and smiles as the map pops up.

"You're a lifesaver, Arthur. Try not to play the music too loud. And cleanup after everyone leaves."

It takes the officers about 30 minutes to find the hall and almost as long to find somewhere to park the van.

"That was bloody well ridiculous," PC Gibbons complains as they speed walk away from the multi storey. "Twenty pounds? To park a police van? We should have put the darbies on him and thrown him in the back."

Joe is practically running down the pavement, trying to get to the festival hall as quickly as possible. People leap out of the way as soon as they see the black-clad police officer, with his arm in a sling, barrelling toward them. The fact he's being followed by three other officers, all wearing Special Ops caps and jackets, causes some alarm.

"What's going on?" a young man asks, grabbing PC Tuinhoff by the arm as he tries to race by.

"No time, mate. Have to get to the hall as quickly as possible."

The young man watches after them, his eyes wide in alarm as they jog down the pavement. As he turns to walk away, he reaches in his pocket for his mobile.

Joe charges through the front doors of the festival hall complex and is immediately met by a new challenge – there's multiple floors with different events being held on each one. And he doesn't remember what Dr. Bond's event is called.

_It's raising money for something. And a whole lot of doctors are attending._

He turns to the security station where two uniformed guards are watching him with great interest.

"Is there a problem officers?" the more senior of the guards asks.

"No problem," says Joe. "We're looking for a benefit being attended by a whole shower of doctors."

The two guards look at him suspiciously.

"Is there a safety issue? A bomb threat?"

"No, no!" Joe says impatiently. "I need to speak with someone who is attending the event."

"Is this part of an ongoing investigation?"

Joe feels like he's about to go spare. "Do you know what floor the benefit is on or not?"

The two guards look at one another and then pick a clipboard up off their desk.

"There's a Chloe's Club fundraiser being held on the second floor. It's for a childhood cancer charity."

"That's the one!" Joe says, snapping the fingers of his right hand and pointing at the guards. "Second floor, mates," he says, turning to his fellow officers while looking about for the nearest lift.

As they stand, waiting for the lift to arrive, two well-dressed couples come through the main door and join them. They stare curiously at the officers.

"Is there a problem in the building?" one of the tuxedo-clad men asks.

"No problem," says PC Tuinhoff. "We're just looking for someone."

Just then, the lift doors open and Joe rushes through them, madly pressing the button for the second floor. The other three officers file on. PC Tuinhoff looks curiously at the two couples.

"We'll wait for the next one," the tuxedo man says.

Joe fidgets impatiently as the lift slowly rises. Thankfully, it doesn't stop on the first floor. The doors aren't even fully open before Joe slides through, banging his injured hand off the side of the lift. He dances around in pain for a moment, before looking around the reception area.

The place smells like expensive booze and high-priced perfume. Joe can hear a rock band playing a funky rendition of _I Will Survive_ in the distance. A pair of stunning women in long ball gowns stare at him in surprise as they stand behind an antique desk located beside the entrance to a large ballroom.

PC Gibbons gives a low whistle of appreciation. "Look at that bang-tidy pair," he says quietly. "I'm calling bags on the blonde."

"Tone it down, Romeo," Sergeant Becker says as the four of them walk up to the desk.

"Is there a problem, officers?" the blonde asks.

"Not anymore," says PC Gibbons with a lecherous smile. He's immediately elbowed by Sergeant Becker.

Joe is becoming extremely tired of being asked that question. "Yes there is. I need to speak with one of your guests right away."

"Is it an emergency?" asks the brunette.

He looks at her incredulously. "It will be in a minute," he says impatiently.

"And who are you looking for?"

"Dr. Stirling Aylesworth."

The two women look at one another and then over at him with open curiosity. "Dr. Christopher Bond's friend?"

"Yes."

"You can go right in," the brunette says hastily. "Sorry for the delay."

The other three officers stare at Joe in amazement as he quickly walks into the ballroom. The room is packed with extremely well-dressed people. Some are up dancing, others are standing around the bar area and even more sit around large tables, chatting and watching the people on the dance floor.

"Bloody hell," he curses softly, wildly looking around for Stirling. He can't see her anywhere. He's to the point he'd settle for a familiar face when his prayers are answered.

"Doc!" he calls, striding between small groups of chatting people to reach the Doc, who is talking with a tall, distinguished-looking, silver-haired man. "Doc! Am I ever glad to see you!"

The typically cold, sardonic blue eyes open wide in disbelief. "Pen-Joe!"

The Doc glances behind him, taking in the three other black-clad officers. "What are you doing here? We thought you'd be back in Portwenn by now."

"We took a slight detour. Do you know where Stirling is?"

The Doc clears his throat awkwardly. "The last time I saw her, she was with her friends in the band."

Joe gives him a quizzical look. "The band? But aren't they playing right now?"

He looks toward the large stage on the far side of the room. A rather large group of people are dancing in front of the raised area. They range in age from teenagers to seniors.

The band has grown in size since the last time Joe saw them. He recognizes Duncan on the lead guitar plus a few of the other members but notices there are several new female singers plus a brass and strings section. They are currently performing a rocking version of The Go Gos' _Head Over Heels_ being sung by a fedora-wearing woman on the grand piano.

And then he recognizes her. At least he thinks it's Stirling. She's sitting at the piano dressed head to toe in black with her hair back in a pony tail under the hat. Her fingers are flying over the keyboard as she belts out the song, a red-head singing back-up beside her. His heart leaps with excitement. But as he slowly approaches the dance floor, his excitement is replaced by concern and then annoyance.

"What the bloody hell is she doing?" he asks himself out loud, his three fellow officers staring in disbelief at the very pregnant woman singing and banging away on the piano.

Joe manages to wander through the maze of tables and is about to walk onto the dance floor when Louisa suddenly appears in front of him.

"Joe!" she says with surprise. She glances behind him at the three other officers and gives a little wave.

"She's eight months pregnant," he thunders, pointing up at the stage with his good hand. "What the hell is she doing up there?"

People from several nearby tables look over at the sound of his raised voice.

Louisa glances quickly over her shoulder before turning back to him. "They invited her to play with them," she explains. "You know what she's like. She was practically vibrating in her chair with excitement. She was dying to play."

"She could have said no! She should have said no!" Joe says loudly. "You should have stopped her!"

Louisa can honestly say this is the angriest she has ever seen Joe. And she's concerned.

"Stop Stirling?" she laughs ruefully. "When her mind is set on something?"

And then Christopher is standing next to Louisa. "Joe! We weren't expecting you! Congratulations on your team's success. We read all about it in The Times this morning. It included a rather splendid photo of you." He pauses and looks behind Joe. "Plus some of these other gentlemen with you. Welcome!"

"Have you all lost your bloody minds?" Joe shouts, becoming more agitated. "She's due in five weeks! And she's up on a stage performing with a rock band! What's she going to do next? Back flips across the stage?"

He moves around the small gathering blocking his way and is about to walk across the dance floor when the band reaches the end of the song. Everyone applauds and whistles madly.

"Thank you!" Duncan shouts into his microphone. "I'd like to thank my good friend Stirling – most of you know her as Dr. Aylesworth – for joining us up here to sing and play piano on a few songs."

Joe stops as there's more applause and whistling.

"I'd ask her to take a bow but she can't really see her feet anymore and we might not get her upright again."

The audience laughs while Stirling throws a crushed paper cup at Duncan, beaning him in the head.

Joe finds himself chuckling softly.

"As a special treat, we've decided to let Stirling choose the last song for this set."

She leans forward at the piano and adjusts her microphone closer to her mouth. "This is one of my favourite love songs. I'd like to dedicate it to my husband. I miss you very much, Lover Boy, and look forward to seeing you when I get home."

Joe stands still in the middle of the dance floor as she begins to play the opening notes on the piano.

"Nobody does it better," Stirling sings. "Makes me feel sad for the rest. Nobody does it, half as good as you. Baby, you're the best."

Several couples swaying on the dance floor watch with curiosity as the police officer in black, with his arm in a sling, walks slowly up to the stage.

"I wasn't looking, but somehow you found me. I tried to hide from your love light. But like heaven above me, the copper who loved me, is keeping all my secrets safe tonight."

As he watches her sing and play, Joe feels his anger and frustration ebbing away. _She really is stunning sitting up there, the spotlight shining on her._

He gives his head a shake. _She shouldn't be up there. She knows better._

"Baby, baby, darling, you're the best. Baby, you're the best. Baby, you're the best."

The applause is thunderous as the final notes fade away.

"We're going to take a 15 minute break," announces Duncan. "But we'll be back soon to take your requests."

Joe never takes his eyes off Stirling as she slides the bench away from the piano. She carefully shuts the keyboard cover and slowly stands up, obviously struggling to manoeuvre her belly around the large instrument. Duncan stands nearby, ready to steady her, but she keeps her balance. She turns and says something to him, smiling. And then she pauses, a slight frown on her face. She looks out at the audience, her eyes travelling wildly about the room, eventually landing on him. They widen in surprise and, slowly, her face brightens with a huge grin.

Joe finds himself grinning back.

And then she's scrambling, not sure what to do. _Should I jump off the stage or go down the stairs?_

Duncan pulls her toward the stairs in the wings. She tries to keep sight of Joe as he drags her behind the side curtain.

Joe slowly walks along the front of the stage, trying to keep her in sight. Suddenly, she's in front of him, her face glowing with excitement and her huge, bright smile.

"Surprise, Cheeky!"

"Lover Boy," she whispers softly, throwing her arms around him and kissing him hard. He flinches from the pain as her belly hits his injured hand but he doesn't care. He puts his one good arm around her and pulls her closer. Neither one of them wants to stop, come up for air. But they have to.

They pull apart breathlessly, looking at one another. Joe looks down at her belly. "You've grown bigger," he says softly, touching the top of her stomach just in time to feel a hard kick.

"And that's what he thinks of that," Stirling says as he laughs.

He pulls her against him again. "What the hell were you doing up there on that stage?" he growls in her ear.

"Singing and playing the piano?"

"Do you really think you should have been up there?"

"It wasn't that strenuous. I was sitting the whole time."

He brushes her damp hair back from her face. "That's why you're soaked with sweat."

"It was the lights; they're hot."

"You're five weeks away from your due date, Cheeky."

Joe grabs her hand, turning to lead her from in front of the stage. That's when they realize most of the people in the ballroom are watching them.

Stirling hesitates, her hand hovering over her belly, her face red with embarrassment, as the audience begins to applaud.

"Snog with her some more, Sarge," PC Gibbons shouts loudly to much laughter.

Joe's only too willing to accommodate them, turning and kissing Stirling passionately, even putting a tiny dip into it.

And that's when a small unit from The Met storms the ballroom. "Nobody move," a voice booms out loudly as the lights come up.


	54. Chapter 54

"So you see Inspector, it's all been a big misunderstanding," Christopher explains for the fourth time. "There's no bomb threat. There's no terrorists. There's no covert operation. It's just four Special Operations officers from Devon and Cornwall who came up to visit London and stopped by our benefit."

The lights have been raised in the large ballroom and guests sit at various tables around the room. The band sits along the edge of the stage, joking with one another and the officer watching them.

Sergeant Becker and PCs Tuinhoff and Gibbons sit with two Met officers at an isolated table while Joe and Stirling sit at another, also being questioned by two police minders. There had been a push to separate the husband and wife for questioning but Joe had refused.

"I just finished driving all this way to be with my wife," he said. "She stays with me."

A few words from Michael and the officers were only too happy to accommodate the couple.

"So at no time did you allude to the Royal Festival Hall security guards that you were here on special police business?" one of the officers asks.

"No, I did not," Joe says, his frustration having grown to epic proportions over the course of the past two hours. "All I said to them was I needed to speak with someone attending the event. I assured them several times there was no emergency."

Stirling leans her head against his shoulder, her eyes growing heavy. This is the fifth time he's been through the story. And she's exhausted.

"And you needed to speak with your wife," the officer reads from his notes. "A Dr. Stirling Aylesworth?"

"Yes," Joe agrees, putting his right arm around Stirling to steady her against him.

"And you never told a – Dr. Gregory Staples – that you were here – and I quote – looking for someone?"

"I don't even know who Dr. Gregory Staples is."

"He was waiting for the elevator the same time as your group."

"Oh him. I didn't speak with him. I believe PC Tuinhoff did."

The officer immediately makes a note in his book.

"What about Rebecca Taylor? Did you tell her it was imperative that you speak with one of the guests?"

"And Rebecca Taylor is?"

"The brunette hottie at the reception desk."

Stirling opens her eyes and looks over at the officer with a slight frown.

"My apologies, ma'am," he says, blushing as he notes her disapproving look.

"I informed Ms Taylor that I needed to speak with one of the guests right away. I then informed her which guest and she let us in."

"And Gary Belsing? You never told him – and again I quote – No time, mate. Have to get to the hall as quickly as possible?"

"It wasn't me," Joe says with a sigh. "It must have been one of the other officers. Look, I admit to speaking with the security guard and Ms Taylor. Yes, I told them I needed to speak with someone attending the benefit. At no time did I suggest it was a police emergency or that I was attending on official police business. I just wanted to see and talk with my wife."

He leans over and kisses the top of Stirling's head, relishing the familiar smell of her strawberry-scented shampoo. She leans more of her weight against him, smiling contentedly.

"When can we leave, Officer?" she asks quietly. "My husband has answered all of your questions multiple times. We're both quite knackered."

The officer looks up from his notebook and gives her a polite smile. "Soon Dr. Aylesworth. I'd just like the Sergeant to go through everything one more time."

Stirling almost groans but Joe beats her to it. She glances tiredly at Christopher, who is still talking with great animation to the Inspector in charge. She looks beyond him to the table where Louisa sits patiently and the Doc less so. She frowns. _Where's Michael?_

She looks slowly around the room, starting at one corner and moving across. She finally spots him standing near the public loos, chatting on his mobile. She glances at her watch. _Who the hell would he be talking to at half one in the morning?_

She watches as he ends the call and leans against the wall, a self-satisfied grin on his face. She knows that look.

Suddenly, the Inspector's mobile rings, interrupting Christopher's monologue. Stirling watches with great interest as the Inspector answers the call. His expression slowly changes from cocky self assurance to a deep frown. He listens for about two minutes, nodding occasionally, before saying a few words and pocketing his mobile.

"Okay officers, pack it up!" he yells. "Our work here is done."

Joe watches in disbelief as the two interviewers across from him fold up their notebooks, put away their pencils and grab their hats.

"That's it? After all that, you're just leaving?"

Stirling reaches over and covers his hand with hers. She gives him a knowing look along with a quick wink. "I think the officers know what they're doing, sweetie."

He looks at her strangely before turning back to the two Met officers.

"Thank you very much for your time Sergeant Penhale, Dr. Aylesworth," one of the officers says formally. "My apologies for any inconvenience this may have caused."

The Met unit quickly reassembles and leaves as swiftly as it arrived.

Christopher is soon busy getting the band back up and playing, the bar serving, the lights low and the guests happy and dancing.

Stirling looks over at Michael again. He hasn't left his spot near the loos. He must feel her eyes on him because he looks up and smiles at her, giving her a big thumbs up. She laughs.

"What, Cheeky?" Joe gently touches the side of her face with his fingers.

She smiles at him. "I think The Met just received the Aubrey Treatment."

He gives her a puzzled look before shifting his gaze over to the very dapper Michael, still grinning like a giddy little kid against the wall.

"He did something, didn't he?"

Stirling looks into Joe's eyes and nods her head with a slight smile.

"You have no idea how happy I am to know your friends are my friends. I wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of Aubrey."

She laughs and leans her forehead against his chest.

"Tired?"

She nods her head.

"Maybe we should call it a night?"

She nods her head again.

Joe slowly stands up and stretches before helping Stirling to her feet. He escorts her over to a table near the dance floor where Christopher, the Ellinghams, and his three Special Ops team members are sitting. Michael wanders over a minute later.

"Sergeant, your fellow officers were just telling us how it was your idea to search for abandoned mine shafts," says Christopher. "Smart thinking."

"It's very impressive, Joe," adds Louisa. "You're a hero."

He blushes, his hand tightening around Stirling's.

"It really was a team effort."

"Enough with the bullshit line, Sarge," PC Gibbons says. "It was your idea all the way. We just went along to see if you had finally lost your mind."

Everyone around the table laughs.

Stirling clears her throat and approaches Sergeant Becker. "Hello. I don't think we've been properly introduced." She sticks out her hand. "I'm Stirling, Joe's wife."

He stands up and formally shakes her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Stirling. I'm Sergeant Max Becker and these two idiots are PC Pete Tuinhoff and PC Roger Gibbons."

She shakes hands with the other two officers.

"We've heard a lot about you," says PC Tuinhoff.

"And saw a lot of you," PC Gibbons adds with a big smile.

Stirling glances back at Joe with a frown as he blushes and looks down at the floor.

Sergeant Becker removes PC Gibbons cap and slaps the young officer across the head with it before shoving it down on his head again.

"OW! That bloody well hurt!"

If she wasn't so exhausted, Stirling's sure she would start laughing. "Based on the appearance of your face, I'm guessing your mouth gets you into all sorts of Barney, constable."

"What, this?" PC Gibbons points at his black eye and swollen cheek. "Your Lover Boy did this."

Now Stirling is really frowning at Joe, who is wondering how quickly he can get her out of the room.

"That's how he broke his hand," PC Tuinhoff adds helpfully.

"And on that note, I think I should get Stirling off to Bedfordshire before she falls over." Joe gently grips her arm. "But, I have no idea where I'm going."

"No problem." Michael quickly pushes a few buttons on his mobile. "Leyland will be waiting out front for you by the time you make it downstairs. After he drops you two off, he can come back for the rest of us."

Joe and Stirling say good night to everyone, particularly the three Devon and Cornwall officers who plan on exploring the city a little longer before turning the police van back toward home.

"Try not to get into too much trouble," Joe suggests with a grin.

Sergeant Becker hands him the van keys. "Don't forget to stop and get your kit. Just send the keys back with this Leyland chap."

After a few last quick goodbyes, Joe manages to lead Stirling out of the ballroom and onto the lift. As the door closes, she leans against him tiredly, closing her eyes. He wraps his right arm around her, trying to fight back a yawn.

"How long has it been since you've had a proper night's sleep?"

Joe's quiet for a moment, calculating. "Days. Although I did have a nice nap on the drive up to London. The doctor at the hospital prescribed these painkillers that are amazing. They knock me right out."

"Sort of like you knocked out PC Gibbons?"

He's instantly on the defensive. "I can explain everything!"

She laughs tiredly, placing a finger against his lips. "It can wait. I'm too tired to process anything of importance, especially why my husband is suddenly engaging in brawls."

"It wasn't a brawl," he mutters.

"I still can't believe you idiots drove all the way up here." She looks up at him as the lift doors open on the ground floor.

"I missed you, Cheeky. I just had to see you."

He bends down and kisses her gently, his right hand cupping her cheek.

They're still kissing as the lift doors begin to close but Joe quickly shoves one of his feet out to block them. The doors open and close multiple times, banging against his foot, before the emergency alarm sounds.

"Excuse me!" A voice echoes from across the reception area. Their lips separate as they turn to look toward the security desk. "In or out, make up your mind." The young security guard looks irritable. "Guests need to use that lift."

Holding her hand in his, Joe escorts Stirling through the reception area and out the main doors. Leyland and the Bentley wait patiently just outside.

"Good to see you again, Joe." The chauffeur holds the door open for Stirling to enter the back of the vehicle.

"Nice to see you too, Patrick." Joe gives the elderly man a light slap on the shoulder. "I don't need any help." He walks around to the other side of the car and slides in next to Stirling.

"We just need to make one stop at a multi storey a few streets away," he says, as Leyland pulls the car out into traffic. "I need to pick up my kit."

After stopping to get Joe's duffel, the Bentley begins the trek north toward Hampstead Heath and Heathcliff Hall. As they drive, Stirling leans more and more of her weight against Joe's right side. Eventually, he eases her head down to rest on his lap, the rest of her body curled up on the leather back seat. She's asleep within minutes, his right hand gently petting her hair.

"Did she nod off?" Leyland looks back at them via the rear view mirror.

Joe nods his head, fighting back a yawn.

"You must be knackered yourself."

"You could say that. It's been a long week."

"And congratulations on the good work you did out at Cape Cornwall. Very smart thinking."

Joe gives a slight smile, glancing down at Stirling. "It was something she told me that made me think of it. When we were out there on our honeymoon, she read all of the guide books, the brochures, everything she could find. And then, at just the right moment, she would inundate me with information on the most mundane things. She's the only person I've ever met who could speak for several hours on the rock formations of Cornwall. Anyway, some of those mini-lectures obviously stuck with me because I remembered the numerous abandoned mines that were in the area and the warnings in the guide books."

He glances out the side window at the night-time streets of London passing by and smiles. "She's with me, whispering ideas in my ear, even when I'm hundreds of miles away. Since I've met her, she's made me a better person."

Leyland clears his throat politely.

"I consider myself one of Miss Stirling's biggest fans but don't sell your abilities short, Joe. It was you who made yourself a better person. Certainly, Miss Stirling has helped you discover some of the qualities that you already possess and helped you find the confidence to try new challenges. But you are the one who has done all the hard work. And if she were awake, I'm positive she'd tell you the same thing."

"That's kind of you, Patrick."

"It's the truth."

A comfortable silence settles within the car as Leyland continues to motor north. The streets become less busy and congested the further they travel away from the Thames. Joe finds himself dozing off from time to time, jerking back awake as his head bobs forward. Stirling barely moves, her head snuggled comfortably against his jacket, which he set on top of his right upper thigh.

"We're almost home," Leyland announces about 30 minutes after they left the festival hall.

Joe watches in amazement as an ornate iron gate slides across the stone wall beside them, opening access to the drive. A few seconds later, the Bentley stops in front of one of the largest houses he's ever seen. Well, ever seen this close. He carefully eases out from under Stirling's head and opens his door, standing and turning to gaze at Heathcliff Hall.

"Bloody hell!"

"I do believe Dr. Ellingham's reaction was somewhat similar." Leyland smiles as he retrieves Joe's duffel bag from the boot.

Stirling stirs slightly in the back seat and Joe ducks his head back in. "Time to wake up, Cheeky. We're at Michael and Christopher's palace."

She slowly sits up, looking around in a daze. "We are? Already? I feel like I just fell asleep."

"Give me your hand and up you get." He gently helps her out of the car. "It's definitely way past your bedtime."

Suddenly, she gasps. "I've gone and left my guitar and rucksack at the hall." She looks at Joe in alarm.

"Don't worry, Miss Stirling," Leyland says gently. "I will fetch them when I go back to pick up Mr. Michael, Mr. Christopher and Dr. And Mrs. Ellingham."

She relaxes against Joe's right side. "Thank you, Leyland. I can't believe I forgot them. My brain is definitely not working properly."

The chauffeur opens the front door and escorts the couple into the house, turning on the lights as he goes.

"I can take your bag up if you like, Joe?"

"I'll do it." He takes the bag from the elderly gentleman's hand.

"Miss Stirling's room is on the first floor, south wing, which is to the right, all the way down at the end of the hall. It's called the Equine Room or, typically, the Stirling Room."

Joe smiles. "Thank you, Patrick. I can take it from here."

"Very well. I'm off to fetch the rest of them. Please, make yourself at home." And with that, the chauffeur gives a quick bow and walks out the front door.

"Time to take you to bed, missus." Joe clutches his bag while gently supporting Stirling up the stairs.

She smiles as she leans against him, her eyes half closed. "That sounds wonderful, Lover Boy. But I'm so tired, I just want to sleep."

He laughs as they reach the top of the stairs and turn right. "You have a very dirty mind, Doctor. That's what I meant – time to get you to bed so you can get some sleep."

He opens the bedroom door and leads her into the large suite, helping her sit on the side of the bed before turning on the lights. He looks around and gives a whistle of appreciation. "Nice room, Cheeky."

He squats down in front of her and unzips her boots, gently pulling them off and setting them neatly to the side. In no time at all, he has her undressed and under the duvet, where she snuggles with a hum of contentment.

Joe moves about the room, looking at the decorations and photos as he carefully takes off his sling and begins to remove his own clothing, setting each item on a nearby lounge chair. He kicks his shoes off and sets them beside Stirling's boots before wandering over to look at a painting in the small sitting room area near the en suite loo. As he awkwardly unbuckles and undoes his trousers with his right hand, he realizes he's looking at a painting of a younger version of Stirling.

"This is you, isn't it?" He points at the painting, amazed. After a few seconds of silence, he looks over at the bed and realizes she's fallen asleep.

He smiles as he gazes at the life-sized portrait, removing the rest of his clothing. He throws them with the rest of his kit on the chair and walks over to the bed, clicking off the light before crawling under the duvet next to Stirling.

As he shifts his body closer to her, she sighs and rolls over, snuggling up against his body like it's second-nature to her, which it has become. He gently places his left arm over her body, resting his broken hand gingerly against her back. She presses her face closer against his chest, kissing the base of his neck in her sleep.

Joe smiles and closes his eyes, relaxing into unconsciousness, the most content he's been in almost a week.

* * *

Stirling slowly feels herself rising up from the depths of sleep. She's so warm and relaxed; she feels almost boneless. Humming happily, she moves closer to the warmth that envelopes her body. It feels so solid but soft at the same time. She wishes she could crawl right in and wrap it around her body.

"Good morning, Cheeky," a familiar voice says and she smiles in her semi-conscious state. "You look happy."

_I am! I'm having the most wonderful dream._

She feels lips kiss her forehead and move down to her nose, cheeks and lips before tickling along her jaw and down her neck. _Heaven._

"That feels brilliant," she mutters, fighting to keep from opening her eyes. "You're so wonderfully warm."

Her brow creases as she feels something hard and rough slide up her right side, stopping just under her breast. It feels uncomfortable against her skin. She reaches up with her hand and touches the foreign object. _It feels like a cast._

_Joe!_

Stirling immediately opens her eyes but is blinded momentarily by the bright sunlight streaming through the open curtains. Squinting, she looks up at the man lying next to her.

"I thought you were a dream." She wipes at her eyes.

"No, it's really me." Joe's head propped up on his right arm, his elbow digging into his pillow. He looks over her shoulder at the blue sky visible out the first-floor window. "It looks like it's going to be a beautiful spring day in old London town."

"Wonderful." She grumbles, pressing her face into his chest, trying to shield her eyes from the light.

"Someone's grumpy this morning."

"It's too early!"

"Early!" Joe laughs. "It's almost time for elevenses, Cheeky!"

"Really?" She pokes her head up to look at the clock beside the bed. "Damn! We missed brekkie!"

"No, we didn't." He points to the small table in the sitting room area. An insulated covered tray sits on top plus a pitcher of orange juice and a tea pot in a cozy. "Leyland brought that up about an hour ago."

"He did?" She glances down at herself with a concerned look.

He leans over and kisses her nose. "No worries. I made sure all your wobbly bits were covered."

"Thank you, kind sir, for preserving what little dignity I have left."

She looks down at his left hand, which rests lightly along her side. She reaches down and gently picks up the wounded limb, bringing it up closer to her face so she can examine the cast.

"I have the film with me."

"Good. I'll look at it later. Looks like a classic boxer's fracture. Two knuckles, correct?"

"Yes." He watches as she tenderly kisses the ends of each of the swollen digits that poke out the end of the cast.

"Did you really wallop PC Gibbons in the face?"

"Yes."

She kisses his fingers again. "And what on Earth possessed you to start a punch-up?"

Joe's eyes darken as he watches her. "He was being a tosser." He leans in and kisses her gently.

She smiles, pulling one of his fingers into her mouth and sucking lightly. "How was he being a tosser?"

Joe leans against her body, kissing her once, twice, three times. "He was being disrespectful to you." He presses his lips against her throat.

"Me?" She sucks on another finger. "I wasn't even there?"

Joe groans, pulling her even closer. "He said something rude about the photo you sent me. He saw it when he pinched my mobile. I had to set him straight. You're not to be treated and talked about like part of his wank bank collection."

Stirling laughs softly, looking into his eyes questioningly. "Wank bank?"

He nods his head, kissing down her neck and along her collar bone.

She giggles as his lips tickle lower. "Am I in your wank bank?" She smiles mischievously.

He lifts his head to look at her before shifting his body, pulling her on top of him. "I don't need one." He pulls her head down for a hard, passionate kiss. "You keep me far too busy to need one of those."

She laughs with delight as she sits astride him, her hands braced against his chest. She lowers her head down to kiss him again. "Good answer, Sergeant."

His arms wrap around her and he presses her body against him, his lips drawing a gasp of excitement from her.

"Time to work up an appetite, Cheeky." He groans against her warm skin.

* * *

Wrapped in a comfy terry house coat, her hair still wet from the shower, Stirling sits at the small table and takes a big bite from a warm, buttery croissant.

"Hungry, Cheeky?" Joe laughs as he lifts his tea cup.

"I could eat a horse and chase the jockey!" She wiggles her eyebrows as she shoves more of the croissant in her mouth.

Joe coughs as he chokes on his tea. "Bloody hell, Stirling!" He blots at the large splashes of tea now covering his own house coat. "A little bit of a warning would be nice."

"Sorry," she says with a giggle. She gasps and clutches at her stomach as she feels a sharp pain along her ribs. "Ugh."

"Are you okay?" Joe is instantly on his feet. "Do we need to go to the hospital?"

"It's okay." Stirling relaxes back into her chair as she rubs the side of her belly. "He was just giving me gyp. It felt like his foot was caught between my ribs for a second or two."

"Ha!" He leans forward and rubs the front of her tummy. "He's sticking up for his daddy."

"That's all I need, both of you ganging up on me."

"You love every minute of it." Joe leans forward and kisses her gently, nipping at her bottom lip.

"Enough, you animal!" She laughs, giving him a gentle shove away from her, before reaching for a still-warm tea biscuit. She's dreaming about slathering it in wonderful, sweet marmalade.

He leans back and looks up at the portrait hanging across from him. "I noticed this painting last night. It's you, isn't it?"

Stirling looks up as she spreads on the marmalade. "Yes – a very young, very thin, very cocky me and one of the most talented, sane horses I ever had the privilege of riding."

"It's a beautiful portrait. I'm a little jealous that Aubrey has a painting of my wife hanging in his monstrous house."

"Why? You have the real deal." She leans over and offers him a bite of her tea biscuit, which he takes all of in one gulp. She laughs as he then grabs her hand, attempting to lick off her fingers.

There's a polite knock at the door.

"It's safe, Leyland, you can come in. Joe was just trying to eat my fingers."

The door slowly opens and the elderly gentleman enters carrying Stirling's guitar case and rucksack. He sets them carefully beside her suitcase.

"Dr. and Mrs. Ellingham are also wondering when you will be ready to leave for the station." He arches his eyebrows questioningly.

"Shite!" She glances at her watch, paling. "Our train leaves at two o'clock and it's almost one. Oh my god!"

She leaps to her feet, feeling panicked. Joe gently reaches up and grabs her hand.

"Cheeky, just breath."

She looks down at him, wide-eyed. "We're going to be late if we don't get our arses in gear."

"Just slow down." He continues to hold onto her hand, keeping her from scampering off in a frenzy. "I've been thinking. Why don't we stay on a few days more? I missed out on the beginning of the trip and I know you had wanted to do some things together while we were here. Doc Brian can look after the surgery and I'm certain PC Garrett would love to stay on and spend a few more days near Reagan. After last week, the force owes me a few days to recuperate, especially after I broke my hand."

"Smashing a fellow officer in the face." She looks at him pointedly.

"Hopefully, it will be okay with Aubrey and Christopher if we stay on?" He looks over at the chauffeur.

"I'm sure they would be delighted, Joe." Leyland also looks pleased.

"But we should get dressed and say goodbye to Doc and Louiser. And I might have to go with them to the station to exchange your ticket for a later date."

"I can do that." Leyland steps forward. "And also purchase a return ticket for yourself. When do you wish to journey back to Portwenn?"

Joe looks over at Stirling questioningly. "I think Wednesday would be a good day. That gives us a couple of days and nights in the city."

"But that means I only two days in the surgery until I start my leave!"

"Sounds perfect." He walks over to her and gently cradles her face in his hands, rubbing his thumbs along the dark half circles under her eyes. "You look exhausted, love. You need to rest. It's time to step away from the surgery and let Brian do what he came to Portwenn to do. This is our last opportunity to relax and enjoy each others company before the sprog arrives; just us."

She looks into his eyes, falling deeply into their depths. She feels a wave of calm wash over, relaxing her.

"Change the tickets to Friday, Leyland. I'm starting my leave a week early so I can enjoy some alone time with my husband."

Joe smiles, leaning forward and kissing her gently.

"Wise decision, Miss Stirling." Leyland turns to leave the room. "I will let Dr. and Mrs. Ellingham know your plans."

"We'll be down shortly, Patrick." Joe's eyes never leave Stirling's as he listens to the elderly gentleman leave the bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind him. In less than a step, he has his arms wrapped around her and he's kissing her passionately. "God, I love you," he whispers fiercely against her lips.

She holds him just as strongly. "And I love you."

He smooths her hair back from her face gently. "Let's get dressed and say goodbye."

"Yes," she whispers, touching his lips one last time before moving away to choose clothing from her suitcase.

_London. Five days. Alone with Joe_. Stirling smiles with glee, feeling happier than she has in the past few weeks. _Heavenly!_


	55. Chapter 55

Stirling leans her back against Joe's chest, smiling as she feels his hands wrap around her body to rest lightly on her belly. She covers them with her own. He moves closer against her, resting his chin on her right shoulder.

"What do you think?" She whispers, not wanting to break the intimate, peaceful mood that surrounds them.

He's silent for a moment, gazing out the glass in front of them. "It's stunning; breathtaking; beautiful, really. But nothing compared to you."

She turns her head slowly toward him, enjoying the effect the reflection of London's brightly lit night skyline has on Joe's kind, soulful eyes. "Well played, Sergeant Penhale! I do believe your romantic side is showing."

She turns further and kisses him softly on the cheek, smiling as she lays her head on his left shoulder with a contented sigh. _The view truly is amazing._

She feels his lips press against the top of her head. "I just want you to remember this moment." He rubs her stomach lightly. "Especially when you're cursing my name, plotting my demise, with your feet braced, body racked with pain, pushing out this sprog. Just remember what a loving, romantic husband I am."

Stirling's whole body stills. "And then he ruined it. He opened his mouth and completely ruined the moment."

She steps out of Joe's warm embrace, turning to look him straight-on. "What on Earth would possess you to bring that up now?" She feels a bubble of hysterical laughter rising in her throat and swallows it down. "We're both happy, content, relaxed, enjoying each others' company. We're together, looking at this breathtaking view of the London skyline, all within the romantic and intimate confines of this private London Eye capsule. And you then bring up the pain of child birth."

She shifts her eyes slightly to the right, just over his shoulder, pleased to see their hostess is sitting in the far corner of the capsule, her eyes closed and ear buds in, listening to her iPod.

Joe shoves his right hand into his black trouser pocket, gesturing with his cast-covered left. "What possessed me to bring it up? Oh, perhaps the fact I was touching your very large stomach and I could feel our baby moving. Or maybe it was the fact in four to five weeks, you're due to deliver. Actually, according to the books, you could go anytime now."

Stirling feels a stab of excitement in her chest at the thought of finally meeting the small being who has been causing such turmoil in her stomach for months. That feeling is quickly replaced by knee-knocking fear.

"Are you okay?" Joe asks with concern as she pales. Suddenly, a reason for her moodiness comes to him. "You're not feeling any pains, are you? Contractions?"

He reaches a hand out toward her but she backs away.

"You're not understanding me, are you? You can't fathom why I might be miffed about what you said?"

He sighs, longing to touch her. "I was just making a silly joke. Obviously, it was a real clanger. Come here, Cheeky."

He holds out his hand again and gently takes hers, drawing her close to him, pressing his chest up against her back, cuddling her belly. He whispers softly in her ear. "I understand. You're nervous. You're scared. It's a big change. I just thought we could talk about it. I'm scared too. I'm worried about you. And the baby."

Stirling is quiet for a moment. "I'm afraid. I'm a bloody doctor, seen dozens of babies born, and I'm afraid of the pain." She laughs ruefully. "How many women haven't I told to just pant through it, push through it, tuck your chin into your chest and bear down harder? But the thought of doing it myself? Terrified! They should take away my medical credentials!"

She turns slightly and leans her head against his chest, closing her eyes, trying hard not to tremble.

Joe is silent, thinking. "It's like the nightmare you had when we visited the Isles of Scilly, isn't it?"

She nods her head.

He tightens his left arm around her. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. You won't be alone. I promised you, remember?"

She looks down and taps the pager clipped to his belt. "And what if that goes off?"

"This?" He backs away from her slightly and removes it, holding the device up between them before clicking off the power. "They know. I'm off the roster until this little one arrives." He rubs her stomach again, still fascinated by the hard, round shape.

"You are?" She looks into his eyes, a single tear dropping onto her cheek. "Since when?"

"While you were talking with Doc Brian about your change in plans, I contacted my inspector and requested leave for this week. I also let him know I would not be available for special duties until after the birth of our baby."

"What did he say?"

"He agreed with my request and said he would remove my name from the Special Ops active roster until I contact him to have it reinstated."

She stares at him silently, a heavy weight lifting from her heart.

Joe leans forward, kissing her nose softly, before giving her a smile. "I'll be sticking close to Portwenn for the next little while."

Stirling wraps her arms around him, pulling him close. He grunts in surprise at the strength of her squeeze. "Thank you," she whispers in his ear.

He wraps his left arm gently around her, turning back toward the glass wall. They stand, bodies close together, relaxed in each others embrace, as they watch the skyline slowly change, the capsule rotating back toward the ground.

Leyland plus Michael and Christopher are waiting for them at the bottom.

"Enjoy that?" Christopher asks with a grin.

"It was stunning!" Stirling says, leaning against Joe. "Let's eat!"

The men laugh at her as they climb in the Bentley. They choose a seafood place with a stunning view of the Thames. After the meal, they relax around the table and talk for hours, Leyland always present in the background to add a comment or two and keep the stories from becoming too exaggerated.

Joe marvels at the way the three of them play off each other; the two men joining forces to tease and hound Stirling, who fights back with lightning fast wit and a sharp tongue. And yet, he never feels excluded from the conversation. By the end of the evening, Michael and Christopher are teasing him just as badly, forcing Stirling to jump to his defence.

"They're always like that, aren't they?" Joe asks later that night as he lies in the darkness, staring up at the intricately decorated bedroom ceiling of their suite. Stirling snuggles against him, her head on his chest.

"I'm afraid so. They bring out the best and the worst in each other. But they're perfect for one another and are truly amazing at what they do. Michael is a fearless barrister – I know he scares the Chief. And Christy is an amazing paediatrician. The children – and the mums and dads – love him."

Joe pulls a piece of her hair playfully. "They both adore you."

She smiles, her fingers tickling Joe's bare chest. "It's like what I imagine being a little sister with two big brothers must be like. They'll protect you to their last breath but you still have to put up with all the big brother teasing and pranks."

She sits up, looking at him in the dark. "They like you, too."

He pulls her head back down against his chest. "How can you tell?"

"They don't include just anyone in their teasing."

Joe heaves a sigh of relief. "Thank god. The Chief isn't alone. Don't let Michael know this but, he scares me, too."

Stirling laughs and kisses his chin before snuggling close and drifting off to sleep.

Monday morning, they go clothes shopping for Joe.

"You can't wear your Special Ops kit all week," Stirling says as she browses the men's clothing racks at Selfridges &amp; Co. on Oxford Street. "I mean, we're just standing here shopping and you're attracting attention."

She gestures to several older women staring at him from a nearby pullover display and a little boy who points at them as he is dragged away by his harried-looking mother. "I'm waiting for The Met to storm the floor."

He instantly feels self conscious, folding his arms over the large white letters spelling Special Ops across the front of his T-shirt. He tries to lean nonchalantly against a display of designer boxers. "How do you know they're not just staring at your very large belly?"

She glares at him before glancing down at his black, paramilitary-style boots. "We're even going to have to buy you trainers or something."

He ends up with several different outfits plus new boxers, socks and shoes. He changes into a new outfit in one of the dressing rooms, coming out with his uniform and boots in a store bag.

"That's better!" Stirling smiles and takes his arm. "Now everyone won't think you're here to arrest them or take down a terrorist cell."

As they walk out the front of the department store, Joe feels somewhat uncomfortable. He notices Leyland standing with a group of fellow drivers, laughing and talking as he waits.

"Maybe we can walk somewhere from here," he says, turning to Stirling, desperate to find some way to avoid being driven about by the chauffeur.

As far as Joe is concerned, Leyland and the stately, luxury car attract far more attention than his Special Ops kit. And he feels self conscious having the elderly gentleman escort them around the city while store doormen trip over themselves to open the car door for him.

"What is there to do around here?"

Stirling laughs. "What is there to do? Take your pick. We can walk up Baker Street and visit the Sherlock Holmes Museum. And Madame Tussauds is not far, just down Marylebone Road. Plus Regent's Park and the zoo are just one street over from the wax museum. Or we could walk down Oxford Street here to Hyde Park. There's lots to see and do there."

They end up walking up Baker Street, much to Leyland's great distress.

"But I can drive you, Miss Stirling," he says. "Should you be walking that far in your condition?"

"It's not that far; I'll be fine," she says, setting the shopping bags in the boot of the Bentley. "You might as well drive home. What time do you normally fetch Christy and Michael?"

"About half five."

"How about we meet you at the Prince Albert Road entrance to Regent's Park around five o'clock?"

Leyland hesitates. "I really feel I should stay and drive you, Miss Stirling. It's a very long way to walk."

The chauffeur glances at Joe, looking for support. But walking was his suggestion in the first place. And now Joe is feeling a bit uncertain about his great idea. He opens his mouth to say something but Stirling cuts him off.

"Don't fuss! You're being a worry-wart." She kisses Leyland on the cheek before linking arms with Joe and walking determinedly down the street.

In the end, Leyland is right. It is a lot of walking for her and she's moving a lot slower by lunch. Not that she complains. After visiting 221b, they meander up to Madame Tussauds, where they discover the wait to be ridiculously long.

"You're not standing in that queue," Joe says, escorting her past the tourist attraction in a desperate search for a place she can rest. He finally finds a spot at a small cafe next door to the museum. After snagging an extra chair from a table, he helps her sit down near the edge of the pavement.

"Just wait here. I'll be back in a minute."

"Joe!" Stirling calls after him but he's off, crossing the street and entering a newsagents on the corner. She gives up, leaning against the back of the chair to rest her sore lower back. Her feet throb and she glares at her shoes, angry at their sudden betrayal.

_As if the first 36 weeks aren't bad enough, the final four are obviously when your entire body goes to hell._

She's still griping grumpily to herself in her mind when Joe returns a few minutes later carrying two paper bags by their handles.

"Do you think you can walk to the park?" he asks, helping her up from the chair.

"Of course I can," she says cockily, an edge to her voice.

He gives her a funny look, unconvinced. "Maybe I should call Leyland to come and get us?"

"No!" She flinches as the word comes out much louder and sharper than she expects. "No. That won't be necessary. I can make it to the park. It's not that far."

They walk side-by-side down Marylebone Road to the York Gate entrance of Regent's Park. Following York Bridge, Joe helps her cross both the Outer and Inner Circle before entering Queen Mary's Gardens.

"There's a really beautiful place to sit by the Triton Fountain," Stirling explains, pointing ahead. She flinches slightly as she feels a twinge of pain in her lower back. By the time they reach the benches situated around the splashing fountain, she's waddling like a duck.

"I guess this was a rather stupid idea of mine," she says laughing, collapsing with relief onto the bench. Her back is stiff and her feet burn with pain.

"It's my fault," Joe says, sitting next to her. "I talked you into it. I didn't want Patrick driving us all over the city like we were royalty."

She looks at him curiously. "I didn't know it bothered you." She hesitates for a moment, biting her bottom lip in thought. "It used to bother me, too. I guess I just became accustomed to it. Terrible. But Leyland can be so insistent."

She takes a deep breath and kicks off her shoes, squishing her toes in the grass. "We'll use the tube tomorrow. That's what it's there for."

They enjoy a relaxing picnic lunch in the park, Stirling curling up on the bench against Joe afterward and promptly nodding off. She sleeps for an hour before waking with a start, turning to find him watching her with a smile.

"Bloody hell! I fell asleep!"

"I know." He laughs, pulling her back against him and kissing her forehead. "I enjoy watching you sleep. You look so peaceful."

She looks at her watch. "Half two already! Now we don't have time for the zoo."

"We don't need to go to the zoo," he says, stretching out his legs. "I've been quite happy sitting here. But I wouldn't mind seeing the lake. There is a lake around here somewhere, isn't there?"

Stirling scrambles for her shoes, pushing her swollen feet back into them before standing up awkwardly. "This way," she says, pulling him by the arm back the way they came.

They spend the afternoon wandering slowly around the boating lake and enjoying the gardens and scenery. They stop occasionally to rest Stirling's feet and back on a bench. Around half four, they start toward the Avenue Road entrance by Prince Albert Road. Leyland and the Bentley are waiting for them, parked along the Outer Circle.

He frowns as they approach. "Miss Stirling, you're limping," he says, walking toward her to lend assistance.

"I'm fine, Leyland," she says, waving him off as she leans against Joe. "My feet are a bit sore. You were right; I was wrong. Perhaps it was a bit too much walking."

She relaxes with a sigh in the back of the car, leaning against the soft shoulder beside her and falls asleep again.

The chauffeur's disapproving silence speaks volumes. Joe feels like a cad.

"She's out like a light," remarks Michael as he slides into the backseat on the other side of Stirling. "You wore her out, Joe, you old dog. What did you do, make her wander over half of London?"

Leyland clears his throat loudly. "She insisted on walking. She sent me home."

Michael snickers and leans across her unconscious body. "Now you've done it! He's offended."

Joe feels even worse.

After picking up Christopher, who sits in front with Leyland, the vehicle turns toward home. Stirling sleeps the whole way, even through Michael's rather boisterous description of a particularly annoying client who visited his office that day.

"She sat down and I could see her knickers," he says, leaning forward toward Christopher. "That's how short her skirt was. And she kept crossing and uncrossing her legs. I felt like I was starring in a remake of that Sharon Stone movie. What was it called? Basic Instinct."

Christopher laughs. "I once had an assisting nurse who dressed and acted like that. For half the medical procedure I was conducting, I thought I was in a Benny Hill skit. I kept expecting the theme music to start up and Benny to appear and chase her around the operating table. She was a really good nurse, though."

Joe's attention bounces back and forth between the two men like a tennis match as they banter back and forth. Michael falls silent periodically as an interesting article catches his eye in the evening newspaper. But after he finishes reading, he starts the discussion right back up where he stopped.

Stirling sleeps through it all. And then head bobs her way through dinner, requiring Joe to lead her up to bed once they are finished afters.

"Remind me to listen to Leyland's advice from now on," she grumbles as he massages her aching, swollen feet. She glances down, flinching. "My ankles look as big as my thighs!"

"Like hell they do!" Joe says laughing.

She sleeps like the dead, barely moving through the night. And early Tuesday morning, she does something surprising – she rebuffs his advances.

"Too tired, Lover Boy," she murmurs half asleep, dislodging his hand from her breast and his lips from her neck as she rolls over to face him. "Let's just cuddle."

His mind reels in disbelief as she drops her left arm carelessly over his chest, snuggling against his right shoulder, her huge belly pressing hard against him as she throws her left leg over both his. _Stirling's never said no to me – ever_. That's when he realizes she's finally reached the point in the pregnancy when she's no longer interested in shagging. He's been expecting it; the books suggested libido might start decreasing any time during the third trimester. But he still feels disappointed.

He sighs as he puts his left arm around her shoulders, cuddling her closer. She hums and smiles in her sleep, kissing his chest as she snuggles against him. Somehow, he manages to fall back asleep.

They both have a lie in that morning, eventually roused by Leyland bearing a breakfast tray.

"I think we're going to stick close to home today," says Joe, watching the elderly man set the tray on the table. "Stirling seems pretty tired."

"If I might suggest, Hampstead Heath is very peaceful this time of year. It's a nice spot for an afternoon picnic. I can put something together for you if you like? And Mr. Michael mentioned he plans to obtain tickets to tonight's Arsenal football game."

"Arsenal?" Joe questions with a sneer.

"Yes. I understand they are playing Aston Villa."

Joe is instantly all attention. "Really?" He glances down at Stirling, still slumbering. "We're both big claret and blues fans."

"Mr. Michael is well aware," Leyland says with a smile. "One of his favourite past-times is teasing Miss Stirling about the team's dismal record of late."

Joe smiles at the thought. "I think she would enjoy seeing a game. I know I would."

"Well, I believe those are the plans for this evening." The chauffeur turns back to the breakfast tray. "Everything should still be warm but I suggest rousing Miss Stirling and eating soon. I will prepare a picnic lunch."

Leyland glides out as smoothly as he glides in and Joe once again feels a flare of embarrassment and guilt as he stares at the tray on the table. _This servant business certainly has its appeals._ He can understand the attraction of being waited upon. It's definitely relaxing not to worry about planning and making meals or cleaning up kitchen messes.

He gently kisses Stirling awake. "Brekkie," he whispers, making her smile sleepily.

"Yummy," she says, wiping at her eyes and stretching.

After breakfast and a quick shower, they dress for an afternoon on the heath. "I remember we all flew kites on Parliament Hill one afternoon," Stirling recalls as she sits on the edge of the bed, struggling to put on her boots. "God, it must have been five or six years ago."

"Isn't that my cardie?" Joe asks, suddenly noticing the green cardigan wrapped around her.

"It's mine now."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes." Her chin juts, as if daring him to challenge her. "I found it weeping in the back of your wardrobe and set it free to live with me."

He's silent for a moment, looking at her in the cardie. "It looks better on you anyway."

Stirling smiles and kisses him on the cheek. "Good answer."

They spend an enjoyable morning walking a small section of the extensive grounds of Hampstead Heath. Around noon, they meet up with Leyland near the Kenwood estate and collect a picnic basket and blanket from him.

"I can set out the meal for you, if you wish?" the elderly gentleman asks.

"No Patrick, I think I have everything under control," Joe says, taking Stirling's arm and leading her onto the estate's extensive grounds. He manages to find a quiet, secluded spot under some mature trees and lays out the blanket. He sets down the basket before turning to help Stirling sit.

"It's suddenly become a long way down." She plunks her arse down with a grunt, rubbing at her lower back. She lies back and rolls onto her left side. "I'll probably need your help to hoist me back up at some point."

"That can be arranged." Joe opens the wicker picnic basket. "What goodies has Leyland prepared for us?"

Her mouth waters as he removes the food – _sarnies, two wedges of beef pie, Greek pasta salad, fresh cut fruit, a large can of crisps –_

"My favourite!" she cries, sitting up and grabbing the Pringles can with excitement. "He remembered."

"Sour cream and onion?" Joe pulls a face.

She sticks her tongue out at him. "Moreish for me!" She removes the plastic top and is about to pull the foil seal when he manages to snag it from her hands.

"Wait! Not yet! Let me serve up the other food first."

Stirling stills. "I think you better hand those Pringles back."

He looks up, his eyebrows arching at the tone of her voice. "Really?"

She nods her head. "I need those crisps."

"These crisps?" He shakes the can.

"Don't do that! You'll break them!" She grabs for it, snagging an edge and hanging on with her finger tips.

Joe yanks the can out of her reach. "I think you should have something healthier to eat first."

Her eyes narrow in a glare. "Who are you? The nutrition police?"

He's surprised by the flash of anger across her face. "No but I am in law enforcement. And I don't think these are very good for you." He shakes the can again, making her cringe. "According to the book, you shouldn't be eating all these empty calories. The Doc said – "

"A lot of opinionated and unreasonable things!" She sighs angrily. "So help me god, if I ever see that damn book again, I'm going to burn it and dance around in its ashes. Now, lug me that can."

She holds out her hand.

Joe feels a flare of anger. "Not until you eat a sarnie first." He deposits a wrapped roast beef sandwich in her hand.

She stares down at it, wide-eyed in surprise, before chucking it gracefully in a high arc over her right shoulder. "No."

"I can't believe you did that!" Joe stares in disbelief as the sandwich lands with a thunk about 10 metres behind them. "You just threw away a perfectly good sarnie that Leyland made for us. All because of this?"

He holds up the Pringles can and Stirling lunges for it. "Hand over the crisps, Joe!" she shouts, knocking him backward on the blanket as she scrambles for the can.

"No fricking way," he laughs, holding the coveted prize well beyond her reach.

And that's when the huge, out-of-control dog pounces. It appears to come out of nowhere, a wet, slobbering 50-kilogram mass of legs, claws, tongue and tail. It's already scarfed down the sandwich Stirling tossed so handily almost right in its path and, attracted by the scent of more scrummies, decides to join the picnic. The fact the two people appear to be 'playing' just adds to the large animal's excitement as it jumps on Stirling's back, forcing her belly-first on top of the picnic basket and face-first into the blanket. It tramples right over her, aiming for Joe and the delightfully noisy can of Pringles.

"Bloody hell!" he shouts as the dog crashes into him, knocking him over as it bites down on the can and rips it from his hand. With a spray of slobber and a well placed paw to Joe's face, it scampers off the blanket, intent on shaking the coveted cardboard can to death.

"Fecking dog!" he shouts, sitting upright and wiping at his face. His hand comes away smeared with blood. "Great!"

It's then he notices Stirling is still lying on the ground.

"Cheeky!" Joe scrambles forward on his hands and knees, grabbing for her as she lies moaning, her arms hugging her stomach. "Are you all right?"

"It hurts," she whispers, her eyes scrunched close in pain. "It hurts very, very badly!"

"Okay, just lie still."

Joe looks up wildly, straight into the face of a pale and petrified looking young man, bent over and out-of-breath, clutching a length of frayed leash. "It just broke," the man pants.

"Call an ambulance!" Joe shouts, startling the dog owner into action. He pulls a mobile from his anorak pocket and starts punching in numbers.

"You're okay. You're okay," Joe croons, petting Stirling's head as she struggles to sit upright, still clutching her very round belly.

"It hurts!" she says through gritted teeth. Suddenly, she grabs a fistful of his shirt, her eyes filling with tears. "What about the baby? Do you think the baby is okay?"

Joe tries to remain calm and keep the tremble of fear out of his voice. "I don't know but the ambulance will be here soon."

Stirling screams in panic and pain as the dog reappears, knocking her over again in its haste to get at the picnic basket. Joe shouts and shoves the animal off her, kicking the crushed wicker basket further away from them.

"Get that bloody animal under control before I strangle it with my bare hands," he roars at the owner, who quickly lunges for his hyper dog.

"I think he drew blood that time," Stirling hisses as she sits upright again, dirty wet streaks running down her cheeks. She clutches her side.

Joe gently lifts her mud-splattered shirt and winces as he sees the neat rows of bloody welts across the side of her stomach. He can also see where bruises are beginning to form on her belly.

He looks up, his eyes worried. "Where's the damn ambulance?" he shouts just as he hears the sound of an approaching siren.


	56. Chapter 56

Joe is the first one to jump up as the young, white-coated blonde enters the maternity ward waiting room.

"How is she?" he demands before the doctor can even take a breath.

"You must be Joe?"

"Yes."

"Your wife is resting comfortably now. The bleeding and contractions have stopped, which, as you can imagine, we're very happy about. The baby is fine – strong heart beat, normal movement. We've done a sonogram and everything looks perfect. No damage to the placenta. Baby is very happy. The uterus is a strong, well-cushioned, protective fortress. The wee fellow probably didn't feel a thing."

Joe feels such a sense of relief pour over his body, he thinks he's going to pass out. It's only the strong grip of Christopher's hand on his shoulder that keeps him from pitching forward on his face as his knees buckle slightly. He quickly shakes off the weakness, standing tall again.

"But, I think we're going to keep her overnight for observation."

"Why?" Joe asks, his heart immediately leaping back into his throat.

"Your wife has a lot of bruising on her stomach and back. She's also showing all the classic symptoms of a bruised kidney. That was quite a blow she took to her back. She actually has paw print-shaped bruising on her skin."

Joe feels a surge of rage but fights it back, struggling to remain calm.

"She's also pulled a few muscles in her stomach area. Basically, she's experiencing some pain and discomfort. I think she'll be a lot more relaxed in a hospital bed with people to monitor the situation around the clock for the next 24 hours. I just want to be on the safe side."

Joe nods his head thoughtfully. "Can I see her?"

"Of course. They're moving her into a room right now. When they're done, one of the nurses will come down to fetch you."

"Thank you, Doc."

"Thank you, Sadie," Christopher adds, stepping away with the young physician.

Joe collapses onto the nearest chair, scrubbing his face with his hands before leaning back with a huge sigh of relief.

"Very good news, Joe," Leyland says from his seat in the corner of the waiting area.

"It is. Thanks, Patrick."

Joe watches Christopher chat quietly with the obstetrician, wondering what they're discussing. A flash of movement just past them catches his eye and he struggles to control his anger as he catches sight of the young dog owner leaning against the wall near the lifts. The anger soon turns to pity as he notices Michael standing in front of him, gesturing emphatically with his hands. He watches as the young man's face turns progressively greener and greener as the barrister talks. _Poor sod_.

When they finally arrived, the Heath Constabulary had seemed almost over-eager to lay charges but Joe managed to talk them out of it, recognizing the whole fiasco was just an unfortunate accident. Even so, the owner did receive a fixed penalty notice for having a dog out of control. But that doesn't appear to be stopping Michael from doing his hot-shot barrister routine. Joe flinches in sympathy as the impeccably well-dressed man pokes a finger at the dog owner and waves his business card around. _Always a bad sign._

"Good news, Joe," Christopher says, suddenly standing in front of him. "I was chatting with Sadie and she's agreed to let you stay with Stirling overnight; that is, if you'd like to. She's having staff move a cot in for you. I didn't imagine you were going to want to leave her."

"Thanks, Christopher," Joe says. "I was thinking I'd probably have to sleep in a chair or something."

Just the talk of sleep has him struggling against a wave of exhaustion. It's been a crazy few hours and he's beginning to feel the effects. He leans forward in his chair and rests his head in his hands. _This London break might not have been such a great idea. It's obviously time to go home, rest and nest._

"Mr. Aylesworth?" a nurse calls questioningly into the room.

No one moves.

"Mr. Aylesworth?"

Joe suddenly clues in. "Sergeant Penhale," he corrects, standing up.

"You can see your wife now. Her room's just down this hall, last door to the left."

Joe practically sprints down to the doorway, pausing to brace himself mentally before walking in.

Stirling is propped up in the hospital bed, most of her weight situated on her left side. A cylindrical wedge pillow has been placed against her back to keep her from rolling onto it while a second pillow has been placed between her knees. Her hospital gown is hiked up slightly and two black belts can be seen stretched around her stomach. She looks incredibly pale resting against the blindingly white sheets.

"Lover Boy," she says softly. "We have to stop meeting like this. By the way, you look like shite."

He laughs – he can't help it. _She can always make me laugh when I least feel like it._

"Hey Cheeky." He grabs a chair and moves it closer to the bed. "I hate to be the one to tell you this but, you don't look much better."

He glances at the machine sitting at the end of her bed. Rapid beeping can be heard softly as it feeds out a continuous strip of paper.

Stirling notices his shift in attention.

"They're monitoring the baby's heart beat and my contractions, if any," she explains, pointing to the black belts around her belly. "This sensor is an electronic foetal heart monitor. The other can tell if my uterus contracts. The machine graphs it all."

She smiles tiredly, stretching out her hand. He grabs it in his.

"You were thumped on the face, I see. Rambo."

He reaches up and touches the bandage across his left cheek. "I'd forgotten all about it. Until now."

"My poor Joe. You look like you've been in the wars. Broken hand, bruised and bandaged face. I can't take you out in public. Portwenn's going to think I'm abusing you."

He presses his lips to her hand. "I'm going to get you home as soon as I can."

She closes her eyes and smiles. "I think I'd like that. I don't think I fit in with the London bustle anymore. I miss our police station with its ickle lounge and absent jacuzzi tub."

She suddenly shifts in the bed, her brow wrinkling in discomfort.

"Are you all right?" Joe leans forward with concern.

"I'm fine. I just feel the odd twinge in my side now and then. They think I've bruised my right kidney – I keep weeing blood."

He pales, his grip tightening on her hand.

She opens her eyes and glances at him.

"Don't worry, Lover Boy. It's very common to have blood in the urine when a kidney is bruised. It will go away. I'm just going to have to take it easy for a few days, allow it to heal. It will all be fine."

She reaches up and touches the side of his face, gently brushing aside a tear that has dropped onto his cheek.

"My worry wart," she whispers as she takes her hand and grasps one of his, moving it down her body to press against her belly.

"Feel. Everything's okay. He's still working at kicking and pushing his way out. He's happy, so I'm happy. Disaster averted."

Joe experiences a surge of joy as he feels the familiar movement under his fingers. He leans forward and presses his forehead into the mattress, his emotions overcoming him. His shoulders shake as he wraps his arms around his little family, what has become the centre of his universe.

"Oh, baby," Stirling whispers as she strokes the back of his head. "Sssshhhhh." She tries to soothe him as she kisses the top of his head. "I was scared, too. But it's going to be all right."

They hold one another for a long time.

Joe eventually raises his head, his emotions spent and back under control. He kisses her face gently and repeatedly, making her smile, before leaning further and kissing her belly

"There's my Lover Boy."

She closes her eyes and dozes for a few minutes while he watches her, his hand gently caressing hers. It's so quiet and peaceful in the room, he jumps slightly at the light knock on the open door.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," the blonde doctor says as she enters the room. She walks over to the machine and quickly scans the long length of paper feeding out. "How are you feeling, Stirling?"

"Tired. These are really good drugs you've given me."

The obstetrician smiles. "Only the best for our VIP patients," she says, taking Stirling's pulse before wrapping a blood pressure cuff around her right upper arm. "Dr. Bond has been riding my arse over you. This little one hasn't even arrived yet and already has one of the best paediatricians in London."

The doctor bustles about a bit more taking vitals before stopping to record everything on the chart.

"Baby continues to look happy," she explains, bracing her arms against the frame at the end of the hospital bed as she talks. "And your contractions have not resumed, a very good sign. According to the nurse reports, there is still blood in your urine so I'm positive we're dealing with a bruised kidney. Tomorrow morning, I've arranged for you to receive a CT scan so we can see what we're dealing with. Based on the results of the scan, I'll decide if and when we set you free."

"No," says Stirling.

Both the obstetrician and Joe look at her with surprise.

"Cheeky?"

"No. I'm not having a CT scan. If you want to take a look at my kidneys, you can use an ultrasound. No x-rays."

"Stirling, the CT scan is perfectly safe. I wouldn't be suggesting it if it wasn't."

"I know, doctor. I know the odds – 1 in 1,000 greater chance of developing childhood cancer. But I've made it to 36 weeks without a CT scan; I can make it another four weeks without one. An ultrasound can show you what you need to see."

The doctor is quiet for several seconds. She looks like she wants to argue the point further. Her gaze moves to Joe.

"I'm with Stirling," he says firmly. "If you can see what you need to see with an ultrasound, use it."

The doctor nods her head slowly. "Ultrasound it is. I'll make the arrangements. We're going to need a pregnancy table to accommodate your belly since you'll have to be on your front for the procedure."

She stands upright and sighs. "Regardless of the outcome, I think you're going to need to be on bed rest for the rest of the pregnancy."

Stirling closes her eyes and curses softly.

Joe looks curiously between his wife and the obstetrician. "What does that mean?" He distinctly recalls skipping over the bed rest chapter in the book.

"It means that unless she needs to use the loo, move from room-to-room or visit the doctor, your wife should be spending the next four weeks parked on her arse in a comfy chair with her feet up or lying on her side in bed. My medical preference is toward lying on her side in bed. No grocery shopping, no romantic moonlit walks, no nursery decorating or painting, no laundry, no strenuous activity of any kind. And that includes sexual intercourse."

Joe curses softly.

"Is this really necessary?" Stirling asks. "I mean, this roast is almost done. Let's arrange a pitocin drip and get this show on the road."

The blonde laughs. "Nice try, Dr. Aylesworth! If we can keep that little one inside until his due date, the better the outcome. And there's really no medical reason to induce you. Your blood pressure is perfect, the baby is happy, your cervical plug is in place, amniotic fluid levels are good and the placenta looks healthy. You just need to relax, stay off your feet and refrain from shagging. After all, it's only four weeks."

Stirling looks anything but pleased.

"Now, I happen to know there's three shady-looking types skulking about in the hall waiting to see you. The nurses are complaining and they're scaring other people out of the ward, especially that nasty one with the business cards. I'd really like to get them out of sight. Are you up for visitors?"

Stirling shakes off her grumpiness. "Of course. Send in the clowns."

The doctor smiles. "I'll see you later, Stirling. Joe."

After she leaves, Christopher, Michael and Leyland file in, shattering the somber mood that had descended over the room.

"Ling-Ling!" Michael practically shouts as he walks over and kisses her on the cheek. "You look like complete shite. But don't worry. I think our friend the dog owner looked twice as bad when he staggered out of here a few minutes ago. I love it when I can make a grown man weep."

Stirling looks appalled. "The poor bloke! It's not his fault the leash snapped."

"Yes, it is," Michael says. "He had faulty equipment."

"It only failed because I provoked his dog," she explains. "If I hadn't been tossing sarnies around and wrestling with Joe, this probably wouldn't have happened."

"This involved my roast beef sandwiches?" Leyland asks, looking concerned.

"You made them roast beef sandwiches?" Christopher looks shocked. "You didn't make me roast beef sandwiches for lunch."

"Why on Earth were you wrestling with Joe in a public park? Don't you normally do that kind of thing in the privacy of your room?" Michael looks scandalized.

"Can we not relive this?" Joe asks quietly. Everyone in the room turns and looks at him before averting their eyes, trying to appear busy looking at the floor or out the window. Except Stirling.

"I just want to know one thing," she says softly, watching her husband.

"What?" he asks, looking up at her serious expression.

She pauses for a moment, appearing to gather her thoughts. "What happened to my can of Pringles?"

The room goes quiet as everyone watches the couple. Joe stares at her, trying hard not to laugh. Her eyes dance with mischief as she stares back at him, her lips beginning to twitch. He snorts out a laugh around the same time she lets loose a giggle. The pair are soon laughing together, Stirling gripping her belly and flinching from the pain.

"Oh, my stomach," she giggles, trying to keep it from shaking. "I can't even enjoy a good laugh."

The three men stare at them in disbelief. "What the hell is so funny?" Michael asks, appearing annoyed.

Joe ignores them, his attention fully on his wife. "I'm afraid the dog ripped it to shreds," he says, wiping away a tear of laughter. "There were crushed crisps scattered everywhere."

"Damn," she says with a snort, clutching her belly. "You should have just let me have the bloody can."

"I'm sorry, Cheeky. I promise, I'll buy you a whole case before we return home."

She yanks him by the arm close to the bed before pulling his head down to hers. "You better," she whispers in his ear before kissing him.

"Do you have any idea what the hell they're talking about?" Michael demands, turning to Leyland, who is chuckling softly to himself.

"No, Mr. Michael," the chauffeur says before turning and walking swiftly from the room.

Christopher and Michael stare at each other in surprise as Leyland's laughter echoes back to them down the hallway.

* * *

Two days later, Stirling rests comfortably against Joe in the back of the Bentley as Leyland drives down the A30 from Exeter toward Trethorne and the turnoff toward Portwenn. She's very happy to be on her way home, although she'll miss Michael and Christopher.

After 24-hours in hospital, she had finally been released on strict orders to stay off her feet as much as possible and avoid anything strenuous, including travelling home by train. Of course, Michael had insisted they use the Bentley to get back to Portwenn.

"Leyland can drive you. There's lots of room to stretch out in the back. You can stop whenever you need to. It will be perfect."

And even Joe admits, so far, it has been. With Stirling averaging a loo break every 30 minutes, it's been convenient to be able to control the pit stops rather than have her teetering down a swaying train carriage or a bucking plane aisle.

She's currently lying on her left side, her head cushioned by a small pillow set on his lap, a soft blanket covering her.

"How you feeling, Cheeky?" he asks her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Very comfy," she murmurs contentedly. She grabs his hand and snuggles against it with a smile. "Are we almost home?"

"Soon." He looks out the window at the familiar scenery. "We're back in Cornwall again."

He feels her sigh. "That's good."

_It will be good to be home_. It's been almost two weeks since Joe was last in Portwenn and he's missing the smell of the sea and the feel of the wind. He's even hankering for the familiarity of the police station – the squeaky desk chair, the creaking stairs, the big bed in the master bedroom, even the way it takes time for the water to warm up in the upstairs loo. He's even excited about seeing PC Garrett and getting a full debrief. _I must have hit my head._

The anticipation builds as Leyland exits onto the A395 for the short drive to Davidstow and the turn onto the A39. Just a few kilometres further is the B3314, which takes them through Delabole and the cut off to Portwenn.

"We're almost home, Cheeky," he whispers.

Stirling slowly sits up, rubbing at her eyes. She bunches over closer to Joe and looks out the window at the familiar landscape. "Thank goodness. I need to use the loo again."

She heaves a sigh of happy relief when the Bentley finally turns into the police station car park, coming to a stop beside her Citroen. The Land Rover is missing. _PC Garrett must be out on patrol._

"It smells heavenly," she says as Joe helps her up and out of the back seat. She turns to look at the beach across the road and smiles. "I had no idea I would miss it this much."

"Let me get you settled inside," Joe says, leading her toward the front door. "I'll be out in a minute to help with the luggage, Patrick."

"I should be fine, Joe," Leyland says, lifting the case of Pringles out of the boot.

After using the downstairs loo, Stirling settles with a sigh in her favourite comfy chair in the lounge. "I've actually missed this," she says, putting her feet up on the stool, closing her eyes and leaning against the cushioned back.

By the time Leyland and Joe bring in all the luggage and carry it upstairs, she's sound asleep.

"I should start back," Leyland says, shaking Joe's hand. "I'm sure you're glad to be home."

"You're not spending the night in Portwenn?"

"No, I can't leave Mr. Michael and Mr. Christopher alone too long. The house becomes littered with take-away containers."

"Thanks for all your help, Patrick."

"My pleasure. And we'll be waiting with much anticipation for your call. We'll want to know right away."

"You're high on my contact list," Joe says with a smile, pointing to a sheaf of papers stuck to the refrigerator door with a large magnet. "My instructions."

"Good luck, Joe."

After saying goodbye to Leyland, Joe walks into the lounge to check on Stirling. He smiles as she snores lightly. As he turns to grab a blanket from the back of the chesterfield to cover her, he's surprised to see a new piece of furniture against the far wall.

"The Steinway," he whispers.

He turns to look at Stirling. _How did she miss seeing that? She must be exhausted!_

After easing off her shoes and covering her with a blanket, he checks his watch – half one. He quickly walks upstairs and changes, coming down 15 minutes later in uniform. He gives one last look at Stirling before walking through to the station, anxious to read the reports and catch up on the latest happenings in Portwenn.

* * *

"So what did you do?" PC Garrett asks as he holds the door open.

"I grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and dragged him outside," Joe says, walking backward through the doorway into the kitchen. He continues to face the younger officer, re-enacting the scene. "I told him he couldn't talk that way about my missus, did a big wind up, and clocked him in the face."

PC Garrett's eyes go wide with admiration.

"And that's when he broke two knuckles," adds Stirling from her seat at the kitchen table.

Joe spins around with a gasp of surprise, his face colouring with embarrassment. "I didn't see you sitting there."

"I'm sure you didn't," she says with a grin before returning to her current task of cutting carrots.

Joe frowns. "What are you doing?"

She looks up with a smile. "I'm cutting vegetables."

Joe looks over at the kitchen counter, which is littered with bowls and cooking utensils. A pot is bubbling on top of the cooker.

"You're not supposed to be doing that," he says, walking over and removing the knife from her hand.

"What, I'm not even trusted with sharp objects anymore?"

"No. You're not supposed to be cooking."

"I don't remember that being on the list. Anyway, I'm sitting down. This isn't strenuous."

Joe lets out a frustrated sigh. "Don't start, Stirling," he says, his voice edged with anger.

She looks up in surprise. _He's never spoken to me that way._

PC Garrett stands like a deer in the headlights. "Uhhh, I think I need to do something," he says uncertainly, quickly turning and walking back into the police station, shutting the connecting door behind him. A few seconds later, the sound of the office door closing echoes through the kitchen.

Stirling feels uneasy. "Lover Boy – "

"Don't do it, Stirling. I mean it. Don't Lover Boy me."

She's speechless, staring at him wide-eyed. She watches as Joe walks over and sets the knife on the counter before removing the pot from the cooker and shutting off the hob. He stands for a moment with his back to the room, his arms braced against the counter edge, before turning to face her. He folds his arms across his chest.

"The doctor said on your arse or lying in bed. Nothing strenuous. And you agreed." He glances at his watch. "Now, not quite 24 hours later, here you are, thumbing your nose at the medical instructions that were given to you, chopping vegetables and cooking dinner. And don't hand me a bunch of cack about sitting in a bloody chair. You were up, you were bending over and rooting in the cupboards, pulling out pans, carrying a pot full of water. I'm not an idiot."

Stirling trembles, a big tear dropping down her cheek. "I don't think you're an idiot," she whispers.

"Really? Then stop treating me like one. You haven't been resting. You haven't been sitting with your feet up. How do I know? I can hear the clothes washing machine, Stirling. And that one was on the list – no laundry. Remember?"

She nods her head, more tears dripping off her chin. "I – "

"What? Think you know better than everyone else?"

"No – "

"Because that's what I think. You wander around with all this knowledge in your head, all these facts and figures. I think you believe you know everything. Some obstetrician in London tells you to take it easy, put your feet up, rest. What do you do? The exact opposite. You went into premature labour, Stirling! You have a bruised kidney that has you pissing blood every 30 minutes! So you decide to haul a basket of dirty clothes down the stairs to do laundry? And then cook dinner? Obviously, you think you know a damn sight more than that London obstetrician does. Hell, you don't even listen to your own doctor!"

Stirling looks up at Joe, wiping at her tears.

"You think I don't know about what happened during that appointment I missed? You remember, the one where Dr. Silva warned you about the weakness in the wall of your uterus? The one where she advised a scheduled Cesarian section? The one you didn't bother to tell me about? Dr. Silva ended up calling me. She wasn't convinced you were taking the situation seriously enough."

She gasps. "She had no right!"

"You had no right not to tell me! It was a decision that involved me as well."

"I dealt with it. I got a second opinion."

"From who? Yourself?"

"No!" Stirling snaps, feeling a sudden surge of anger. "From the surgeon who put in the sutures that closed up my bloody uterus in the first place – the Chief! You remember, the man who saved our lives? I thought if anyone would know about the possibility of my uterus rupturing, it would be the individual who did the original surgery."

Joe's silent for a moment. "Why didn't you just tell me?"

"I didn't want to worry you."

He laughs ruefully. "Worry me! What about the other things Dr. Silva advised you about? The high blood pressure, taking early leave, the possibility of ordered bed rest?"

"I told you about the high blood pressure. And I went to half days."

"She was advising early leave. She told you it was time to stop working full days. She threatened to report you to the NHS."

"So I shifted to halfs."

"You're doing it again, Stirling. Don't play games. I'm not going to just roll over and give up on this one. You think you can bat those big eyes, call me Lover Boy, and I'll just cave. Not this time."

Stirling feels her eyes beginning to well again. "I'm not playing games."

Joe scrubs his face with his hands in frustration. "Sometimes it feels like you are. It feels like you're intentionally not listening to your doctors, to the Chief, to your friends, or even to me. It's like you decide how it's going to be and forget everything anyone else suggests or advises."

"That's not it at all!" she sobs.

"Then explain it to me! Please! I love you. I'm crazy about you. You're the first thing I think about in the morning and the last thing on my mind at night. You and this baby mean everything to me – everything! And when I saw you lying on the ground – " His voice breaks with emotion. "I was so scared. I thought I was going to lose you both."

"But you didn't!"

"Thankfully, I didn't. We caught a break. And the doctor told you what had to happen; what you needed to do. But you're not doing it! You're wilfully, intentionally, not doing it. And I don't understand why. Why?"

Stirling stares hopelessly at Joe, her eyes filled with tears. "I don't know," she sobs. "I'm so sorry. I'm not trying to play games or defy you or be difficult or stubborn. I love you. I love our baby. I don't want anything to happen to him. I'm so, so sorry, Joe."

She drops her head into her hands and sobs uncontrollably, her heart breaking at the thought of Joe being angry or disappointed in her. _I'm the idiot. I'm a complete and absolute idiot._

It's this thought that's echoing through her mind as she stands up. "I – I – I can't," she stutters, wiping madly at her eyes. She turns and rushes up the stairs, almost tripping on the top step. She catches herself and hurries down the hall to the bedroom, closing the door behind her. She slowly sinks onto the bed, her refuge, burrows her head into her pillow and continues to cry.

About five minutes later, she hears the bedroom door open and close softly. The mattress dips as a body settles onto the bed beside her. Familiar fingers trace along her side, eventually reaching her head and her flushed face. She lifts her head from her pillow and turns to face him.

Joe gently thumbs the tears from under her swollen eyes. All anger is gone from his face, replaced by his typical soulful gaze, now with a slight hint of compassion. And desire.

"You're so beautiful," he says softly, tracing down her nose and across her bottom lip. "Not just on the outside. It shines through from the inside as well. I can see your beauty from in here as well."

He presses his hand between her breasts, pointing at the centre of her chest. "And you have such a beautiful heart."

He leans forward and kisses her, making her eyes fill again. Her lips tremble against his as the tears spill over and down her cheeks. He pulls back and brushes them from her face again.

"I want to say I'm sorry. I want to apologize so badly, Cheeky. But I can't. It had to be done; it had to be said."

She looks into those eyes she adores so much. "I know. I understand."

He pulls her close against him in a tight embrace, his hand tracing down her back and up her side, cupping her right breast. He kisses her, hard and deep, making her body relax against his.

"I love you – so much," he murmurs against her lips before kissing her again, rolling his body partially over hers.

She wants to give in, to follow his lead, to submit to the feelings that overwhelm her body. But she doesn't. She pulls back. "We can't do this," she says, caressing his face. "It's on the list."

He laughs, pressing his forehead against hers for a moment before rolling onto his back with a groan. "Damn!"

She smiles at him through her tears.

"I guess we both have to behave," he says, snuggling her against his side. "This is going to be a long four weeks."


	57. Chapter 57

Stirling is standing in front of the essential oils display at the Portwenn pharmacy when it happens. One minute, she's sniffing samples of clary sage oil, lavender and jasmine, trying her best not to knock over the other bottles with her humongous stomach; the next, she's standing with a shocked look of horror on her face as a flash flood of liquid gushes down her legs and across the uneven floor toward the shop door.

"Oh!" she gasps loudly, prompting Mrs. Tishell, who is currently bagging Claudie Bishope's nappies, to look over.

"Oh!" the chemist gasps, frozen in fear and uncertainty.

"Oh!" says Claudie, glancing over her shoulder and smiling. "I'd say your water's broke, Doc."

Part of Stirling is relieved. At her last appointment, Dr. Silva had scheduled an induction for her due date – now two days away. But another part of her isn't prepared for the reality of childbirth.

Stirling looks over at the woman whose baby she helped deliver about two months previously with an expression of abject fear. She's not sure what to do as she looks down at the expanding puddle she has just deposited on the linoleum floor. "I think I need a mop," she manages to say just before a sharp cramp makes her grab her side and gasp again.

"Don't worry about the moppin'. I think we need to get you home," says Claudie, grabbing her nappies and gently taking the doctor's arm, leading her toward the doorway. Once outside, Stirling takes one look at the uphill climb ahead of her and knows she won't be able to make it. She sits down on a bench just across the street from the pharmacy and digs in her pocket.

"Call Joe, press number one," she says, handing her mobile to Claudie as another pain makes her catch her breath. _I think I'm supposed to be timing these. _She quickly stands up again, compelled by the pain.

Claudie presses the speed dial number and waits as the call rings through at the other end.

* * *

Joe yawns. He's walked the village already once today, finished the _Cornish Guardian_ crossword puzzle (well, as much as he can do without Stirling's help), sorted the faxes, disassembled and cleaned the two rifles in the station's gun safe, dealt with three noise complaints about the same howling dog, did a few word jumbles and it's still 45 minutes until lunch.

Recently freed from her doctor-ordered bed rest, Stirling left about half an hour ago to waddle to the pharmacy – that's the only word he can think of to adequately describe her current uncomfortable-looking gait – intent on finding something, anything, to ease her body into labour.

Two days shy of her due date, she's been worrying about being induced, uncomfortable with the idea of having her membranes ruptured and being placed on a pitocin drip.

He'd laughed at the idea of his GP wife – educated in the world of science, experimentation and provable facts – willing to consider folklore and magic woo-woo potions she's Googled on the Internet to coerce their baby to vacate her uterus.

"You carry a 12 kilogram sack of squirming baby and liquid inside your pelvic area, right above your bladder, and tell me how long you would wait before considering scarfing down vindaloo, taking part in a marathon shagging session, and-or rubbing essential oils all over your belly, all in hopes of hurrying things along," she challenged him before shuffling out the door.

After nine months, he knows when to keep his head down, his mouth shut and daydream about marathon shagging sessions.

He's wondering when she'll be home as he picks up his copy of _What To Expect When You're Expecting._ Just then, the station phone rings.

"Portwenn Police Station," he says pleasantly, flipping to Month Nine in the book. "Hi Claudie. How's that little sprog of yours doing?"

He listens for a moment as he leafs through the pages in the section. "A lady's gone into labour on the high street? Did you need me to call for an ambulance?"

He pauses, listening to Claudie. "Now, don't get excited and all in a panic. Stirling isn't here at the moment. She's currently on leave anyway. Why don't you contact Doc Brian up at the surgery? He'll know what to do."

Joe hangs up the phone and leans in to look closer at a diagram in the book, a slightly horrified look on his face. As he settles back in his office chair, he goes over in his mind the phone conversation he's just had with Claudie Bishope. _A lady's in labour on Portwenn's high street_. _And Claudie kept mentioning Stirling_.

He almost falls over backward as he leaps out of the chair in a panic. _Stirling's gone into labour!_ He looks around his office wildly, trying to remember what he needs to do. _The kitchen; there's a list on the refrigerator._ He bolts down the hall and through the connecting doorway.

* * *

Claudie stares at the mobile in her hand with a look of puzzlement. "He hung up on me." She looks at the labouring woman sympathetically.

"Give it to me." Stirling wiggles her fingers impatiently as she holds out her hand. She hits the speed dial number for Joe's mobile.

He's standing in front of the refrigerator, reading the checklist, when his mobile rings. "Sergeant Penhale, 3021," he says by rote, running his finger down the list.

"Okay Joe, it's time," she says quietly. "Take a deep breath, hold it and count to 10."

He does as she says and feels the panicky feeling in his stomach ebb away.

"Now, pick up the bags by the front door, including the pillow and blanket, and grab two bottles of water from the refrigerator. The car seat is already in the Citroen. I'm sitting on a bench across from the pharmacy. And please hurry."

She disconnects the call and takes a deep breath, leaning over and bracing her hands against the back of the bench as a pain shoots across her belly. _These are definitely not Braxton Hicks_.

Claudie rubs her back as she breathes through the pain. "You handled that phone call well. I think I would have been screaming at my hubby."

Stirling smiles. "You just have to understand Joe. As soon as he hung up, he probably clued in the lady in labour was me. And, knowing him, he panicked and started running around trying to remember what to do. By the time I called, he was ready to listen."

* * *

Joe grabs the luggage and rushes out the front door. But now he's undecided. To the left is Stirling's Citroen, already equipped for the baby but which he loathes. To the right is the Land Rover, complete with blues and twos, important in emergencies requiring speeds at or above the legal limit. He looks right, he looks left; he walks right and sets the luggage in the back of the Defender. After locking up the house and police station, he opens the Citroen and removes the baby car seat, also stowing it in the back of the Land Rover. He's secretly hoping Stirling will be in too much pain to argue the issue.

He activates the lights and siren as he speeds out of the station's car park, throwing up gravel as the tyres bite for traction. The vehicle almost goes airborne as he drives over the top of the hill into Portwenn.

Stirling's easy to spot as he races down the high street, holidaymakers and residents alike leaping out of the way. She and Claudie have already attracted a small crowd of people, all calling out advice as Stirling breathes her way through another pain. So far, the contractions are bearable but she knows this is still early in the process. The scream-worthy ones are still to come.

She sighs with relief as the Land Rover squeals to a stop on the street beside her. _Why isn't he driving the Citroen?_ Suddenly, another pain cramps her belly. For added effect, the baby chooses that moment to start kicking and pushing against her sternum. _He's probably not liking these contractions either._ She feels Joe's hands gently take her arm. She relaxes against him, almost knocking him over as he leads her carefully over to the passenger side. With a little help from a few burly fishermen, he manages to get her into the Defender.

"Thanks for your help, Claudie." He surprises the young mother with a quick hug and kiss on the cheek before racing around to the driver's side and roaring the vehicle and siren back to life.

The group scatters as he floors it, racing down the street. "I'll get you there as fast as I can, Cheeky." He realizes she doesn't have her seat belt on. "You better buckle up."

She manages to move closer, scrabbling with her fingers behind her in hopes of finding the lap belt. She manages to pull it part way across her belly before she runs out of belt. "It won't do up." There's a note of defeat in her voice. She clutches at the front dash as a wave of pain strikes, just as Joe turns the vehicle right onto Fore Street, almost throwing her body across his lap.

"Ahhhh!" she cries, feeling slightly alarmed as the tyres squeal and people scatter on the narrow street. Her head now rests on Joe's left shoulder.

"You're doing great, Cheeky." He reaches up and pats her cheek. "If the pain gets too bad and you need to hang onto me, go right ahead."

She gives him an annoyed look, just about to tell him where he can shove his condescending encouragement, when she's thrown into his left side again as he turns the vehicle right onto the B road leading out of the village.

"Are you okay?" he asks as she scrambles to sit upright again, feeling slightly light-headed and dizzy. She nods, settling back against the seat as they race out of the village, the siren wailing. She gasps as another pain begins, shifting in the seat until she finds a more comfortable position to breath through the contraction.

"I really think you should put your seat belt on." Joe glances over as she moves her body again, this time so she's sitting on her knees facing backward, her hands gripping the seat back. She hunches over so she can lay her head on her hands. "I don't think that's going to be a very safe way to travel when we get on the motorway."

Stirling glances over, fighting back a flare of anger. "You drive the vehicle – which I notice isn't the Citroen – and get me there quickly and, hopefully, in one piece. I'll deal with the contractions and intense pain, okay?"

Joe glances over as she digs her mobile out of a pocket and punches in a few numbers. It's then he notices the condition of her clothing.

"Your trousers are all wet, Cheeky."

"I know." She listens as the call rings through. "My membranes ruptured in the middle of the Portwenn pharmacy. It was extremely embarrassing."

She leans her forehead against the back of the seat as another strong cramp begins. Of course, that's when the call connects.

"Hello? This is Stirling Aylesworth. I'm a patient of Dr. Olivia Silva and currently in my 40th week. Could you please inform her that my water broke at approximately 11 o'clock this morning. Based on the strength of the contractions, which are occurring anywhere from one to six minutes apart, I'd say I'm in the later stages of early labour, transitioning into active. We are en route to the Truro hospital now and I'd say our ETA is in about 45 minutes."

She listens for a minute, wiping her sweat-covered forehead on the sleeve of her shirt. "Oh, don't worry. They won't be able to miss us when we arrive."

She disconnects the call and drops her mobile on the seat beside her. The vehicle is silent, but for the wailing siren, and for several minutes, she rests her head and closes her eyes, enjoying the respite from contractions. She smiles as she feels Joe reach over and rub his left hand up and down her back. "That feels so good," she hums contentedly.

"We're just about to get on the motorway," he tells her, slowing the Land Rover to make the turn.

Shifting slowly and carefully, she moves so she is facing forward again in the seat, her head resting against Joe's shoulder. "That's it, you relax now." He gently strokes her sweat-dampened hair. She slowly slides down his side, eventually resting her head on his lap, the rest of her body tucked up so she can fit fully on the seat beside him. She feels herself drifting off, soothed by the rhythmic petting motion on her head and the rocking of the Land Rover. She can still feel the baby moving inside her, the odd strong push as he fights against the confines of her belly.

Joe can feel her resting more and more weight against his upper left thigh as she relaxes, eventually falling asleep. _Good._ He drives the Land Rover swiftly down the A39, heading toward the A30 roundabout at Toldish and then on toward Truro. _Based on what I've been reading about labour, she's going to need all the rest she can get._

About 20 minutes later, he feels her stir, a groan escaping her. She reaches for her stomach, her legs pumping as she tries to straighten them, still half asleep.

"It's okay, Cheeky, just relax. We're almost there."

"I have to sit up." She pants, grabbing onto his uniform shirt, struggling to pull herself upright. She groans again, bending over as the strongest pain yet moves down her side and across her back. "Uhhhhhhhhhh. This feels different. This really huuuuuuuuurts."

Joe immediately breaks into a sweat, scrambling to lower his window slightly as a wave of nausea washes over him. _She's groaning. She's in a lot of pain. And I don't know what to do._ He feels a sense of panic but fights it back, instead applying more pressure to the accelerator.

Stirling moves herself around in the seat again, returning to her on-knees, facing backward position, gripping hard onto the seat back as another contraction begins. She starts her breathing, inhaling and exhaling rhythmically through the pain. She feels a huge sense of relief as the pain begins to ebb and leans her forehead forward on her hands, slowing her breaths.

"That one lasted about 30 seconds." Joe glances at his watch again. "We're still about five minutes from Truro and the hospital is on the far side of the city. Just hang on, Cheeky, okay?"

Stirling smiles as she feels him start to rub her back again. She turns her head towards him, her eyes still closed. "Okay, Lover Boy," she says softly, continuing to count the seconds in her head.

The next 10 minutes feel like 10 hours as the contractions start to come regularly every two to three minutes and last 40 to 60 seconds. Stirling does her best to breath through them but is sometimes compelled to moan or grunt from the intense pain that usually marks the peak of the contraction. Each sound she makes causes Joe to flinch.

He's shaking with relief as he takes the exit from the A390 to the Royal Cornwall Hospital. Following the maze of streets and signs, he soon pulls up in front of the maternity emergency entrance. As Stirling predicted, the police siren and lights attract quick attention.

"Name?" a nurse barks at Joe as he jumps out of the Land Rover.

"Joe Penhale," he says nervously.

She gives him a dirty look, pointing into the vehicle. "Her name!"

"Oh." He blushes. "Stirling, Stirling Aylesworth."

"Dr. Aylesworth," the nurse says calmly as she reaches through the driver's side door for her hand. "Dr. Silva told us to expect you. How are you doing?"

"I'm fairly certain I've transitioned to active labour." As Stirling puffs, she feels compelled to do a full patient debrief even as she feels a contraction begin. "The contractions are coming about every two to three minutes and lasting – "

She stops, unable to continue speaking because of the pain. Instead she pants, breathing through the peak.

"That's it," the nurse soothes, holding her hand. "Breath through the contraction. Very good. You're like an old pro at this. Are you sure this is your first baby?"

Stirling opens her eyes and glares at the nurse. "Don't patronize me, please. Yes, this will be the first baby I've ever personally pushed from my body. But I've helped deliver more than 100 since I was 12, seven of those in the past six months. I appreciate your encouragement but I think I know what I'm doing."

_What a porky! _She groans.

Joe fights back a smile, well aware of the sharpness of Stirling's bite when she feels like she's being molly coddled or fussed over. But he feels a sense of grudging respect as the nurse laughs. "Dr. Silva said you were a feisty one, which is good. You're going to need all the feisty you can muster when it's time to push. Now, let's get you out of there before you end up giving birth on the seat."

She slowly and carefully helps Stirling down from the Land Rover just in time for the next contraction to start. "They're about two to three minutes apart and lasting 40 to 60 seconds." Stirling gasps, bracing her hands against her knees and starting her rhythmic breathing.

"When this one's finished, we'll get you inside." The nurse turns to Joe. "Does she have a delivery bag?"

He nods and quickly opens the back, pulling out Stirling's overnight bag and handing it to the nurse. "You can move your vehicle to one of the nearby car parks." She points over to the left. "I'll be taking her to Delivery Room Three."

"Delivery Room Three" He keeps repeating it to himself as he moves toward the Land Rover.

"Joe!" Stirling's voice contains a hint of panic, compelling him to immediately turn back. Ignoring the exasperated nurse, he hugs his shaking wife against his chest, kissing the top of her head. "It's going to be okay." He speaks softly into her ear, rubbing his hand up and down her back. "I just have to move the Land Rover and I'll be back. It will take me five, 10 minutes at the most. Okay?" He leans down and kisses her gently. "This nurse is going to get you settled and by the time you're moved in, I'll be there."

She nods her head, wiping at her eyes as she leans closer to whisper in his ear. "Don't let them know but I'm really scared."

Joe fights back a smile. _Leave it to Stirling to not want to lose face in front of her peers while giving birth_.

"I am too. But I know you can do it. I've seen what you can do; how you were with Morwenna and Louiser."

"I was just helping," she says, her voice quavering. "They did all the work. I just supervised."

"Stirling, I know you can do this. I have complete faith in you. And I'll be there with you all the way."

He kisses her cheek and gives her hand back to the nurse, who slowly leads her through the doorway into the delivery and maternity section of the hospital. She doesn't look back as she hears the Land Rover start up and drive away. _He'll be back. He won't abandon me_.

She manages to make it down the hall to Delivery Room Three before the next contraction begins. "These are definitely not consistent," she mutters as she braces herself against the bed, pausing to breath through the pain.

"You're doing fantastic." The nurse continues to encourage her as she sets out a hospital gown.

As soon as the contraction finishes, the nurse, who introduces herself as Emmie, helps Stirling strip off her kit and slip into the gown. As she ties up the back, another contraction arrives. "Just keep breathing." The nurse soothingly rubs Stirling's back. "In and out. In and out."

Emmie helps her into the bed and begins fitting an external fetal and contraction monitor around her belly. After finding the baby's heartbeat, the nurse tightens the belly strap to keep the monitor from shifting and turns on the graphing machine. Emmie covers Stirling with a sheet as she watches the paper feed. "I'm going to page Dr. Silva, let her know you're here and we'll have her assess your cervix," she says.

"If I had a hand mirror and I wasn't so fat, I could probably assess it myself."

Emmie laughs. "I'm sure you could, doctor."

She briskly walks out of the delivery room, leaving Stirling alone. And terrified. She can feel the pressure of another contraction coming in her lower back and gasps as the pain builds, feeling like two vertebrae grating against one another in her spine. Desperate for relief, she roles onto her left side and feels some reprieve from the pain, enough that she is able to breath through the rest of the contraction.

She reaches out with her fingers and snags the graph paper feeding out of the monitoring machine. She quickly assesses the baby's heart rate against the strength of the contractions. _The good news is the baby's heart rate isn't being affected by the loosening and tightening of the uterus. The bad news is these contractions are nowhere near peak strength_.

She closes her eyes in disappointment, her heart feeling like it's plummeting down to the bottom of her stomach. And then she feels a finger of fear. _If I'm having a hard time coping with contractions at this strength, how am I going to bear them when they become stronger?_

Stirling glances at her wrist, forgetting that Emmie made her remove her watch and set it with her folded clothes on a table along the wall. She looks up at the large clock above the door. Joe has been gone for more than 10 minutes. She begins to shiver, her teeth chattering together out of control. Pressure starts to build in her back again and she glances over at the graph paper, noticing the contraction spikes jumping higher. _I'm not lying in this bed through another one._ She climbs out and braces her hands against the mattress as the pain increases. She begins her breathing, panting and hissing as the cramping builds and builds.

"Jooooooooooeeeeeee!" She groans as the pain peaks and begins to descend.

And, like magic, he runs through the doorway, out of breath, flushed and hair mussed. "I'm sorry Cheeky, that took longer than I thought. Are you all right? Where's the nurse? Why are you out of bed?"

Stirling looks up at him, her hands still braced against the bed, her eyes filling with tears. "I want an epidural," she sobs. "And I want one right now!"

"Right." He turns and walks back out the door. He looks up and down the hallway, searching for the nurse that escorted Stirling in. Seeing no one, he walks toward the main desk. "Hello," he says to the nurse at the desk. "My wife is in Delivery Room Three. She's in a lot of pain. She's asking for an epidural and I can't find the nurse who was helping us."

The nurse looks at a clipboard. "Delivery Room Three? Dr. Aylesworth? Your wife's nurse, Emmie, has paged Dr. Silva, who's on her way to examine your wife. The doctor needs to assess your wife before you can discuss pain management. Just keep encouraging her to breath through the contractions and comfort her. That's all I can suggest, Mr. Aylesworth."

_This is becoming annoying_. "It's Sergeant Penhale."

"My apologies, Sergeant."

"But Dr. Silva is on her way?"

"She's been paged and should be here shortly."

"Thanks." Joe turns and trots back up the hall to Stirling's room. Not much has changed since he's left; she continues to stand braced against the bed, panting through another contraction, her eyes wide and scared.

"Dr. Silva is on her way and will assess you when she gets here. Until then, I'm afraid we're going to have to wait."

Stirling looks devastated. "I don't know if I can do this. I looked at the contraction levels and they aren't anywhere close to as high as they are going to peak at the pushing stage. If I can't manage the pain now, how will I be able to handle it when it gets really bad?"

"I can help you." Joe comes around the bed to stand by her. "I can rub your back. That helped before, didn't it?" Undoing a few of the gown ties at the back, he gently places his hand on her back and slowly rubs up and down. "How's that?"

"A bit faster and more pressure." She turns to face him. "Let me lean against you. It will make it easier for you to rub my back." She glances over at the graphing machine.

"Just ignore that. Close your eyes or pick a point and concentrate on that. Don't worry about the stupid machine."

"But I want to know when a contraction is coming."

"You already know when one is coming; you can feel it. Just trust your body. Let the doctors and nurses worry about the machine."

"But I am a doctor," she mutters, starting her breathing as the pain of another contraction builds. Joe continues to rub his hands up and down her back as she breathes through it.

"You may be a doctor but right now, you're a woman in labour who needs to find a way to cope with the pain. Let's just concentrate on one contraction at a time."

Stirling lifts her head and gives him a curious look. "You read the ruddy book and now you think you're a bloody expert. You're quoting it back to me, aren't you?"

Joe smiles. "Well, it sounded like pretty good advice. And I happen to be rather proud that I made it through that book."

"I'm proud of you, too." Stirling leans her head against his chest as she tries to relax before the next contraction. "I couldn't make it past the first month. It was too rainbows and daffodils for me. Not enough blood and guts and reality."

He laughs, applying more pressure against her back as he hears her breathing change. "This one's stronger," she whispers, letting out a long, low moan, pushing harder against his chest, her hands gripping his shirt.

"That's it, you can do it." He talks softly to her, his head bent down beside hers. "I know you can do it, Cheeky."

"How are we doing in here?" A voice calls out as Dr. Silva pokes her head around the door.

"We're just working through a contraction," Joe says quietly as Stirling moans again.

"Well, as soon as this one is over, we'll get her up on the bed so I can have a quick peek and see how things are progressing." The doctor quickly scans through the graphing of the baby's heart beat and the contraction levels. "Baby looks happy and the contractions are progressing. That last one was big and long."

"Yes, it was." Stirling gasps as Joe helps her into the bed, fluffing a pillow behind her to support her neck.

"Okay, feet together, knees out and down. You know the procedure, doctor."

Stirling opens her legs as fully as she can while Dr. Silva, small torch in hand, examines her. "Bit of pressure. This might hurt a bit," she warns as she inserts two fingers to assess the cervix. "That's it, breath through it. All done."

"Okay, what's the verdict, doctor?" Stirling closes her eyes and relaxes back against the pillow, her left hand gripping Joe's.

"Well, the good news is you're fully thinned and effaced and about six centimetres dilated; less than half way to go. The bad news is, this baby hasn't dropped much, even though your membranes have ruptured. His head is not engaged."

"Shit." Stirling feels stinging behind her eyes.

"What does that mean?" Joe looks alarmed.

"No epidural," both Dr. Silva and Stirling say at the same time.


	58. Chapter 58

"I need to get out of this bed." Stirling suddenly sits up and climbs down as the next contraction starts. "Here it comes." She leans her head against Joe's chest and fists his shirt tightly, trying so hard not to wail in frustration and pain.

"Another big one." Dr. Silva examines the graph readout before looking up at her patient. "And what would you advise a first-time mother-to-be in active labour to do if her baby has not dropped?"

Stirling glares. "What is this? Am I doing my oral exams again?"

Dr. Silva laughs, continuing to wait for an answer.

"Start walking."

"Exactly." The obstetrician gently touches her shoulder. "Walk the hall, back and forth. Rest when you need to. Spend a bit of time bouncing on a birthing ball. Try to open up your pelvis more, drop that baby down. You know the drill, doctor."

She rubs Stirling's back a few more times before turning and walking toward the door. "I'll be back in 30 minutes to check you again."

As Dr. Silva leaves, Emmie enters, carrying a large, hot pink coloured birthing ball. "Let's try some bouncing and circles before you start trekking."

Stirling groans as Joe and Emmie help her squat down on the ball. "Breath through the pain," the nurse urges her, supporting half her upper body.

"It hurts!" she hisses as she begins to bounce slowly up and down on the ball, leaning her head against Joe's stomach. "It's like my vertebrae are grinding together."

Emmie grimaces in sympathy. "The joys of back labour."

"Oh great!" Stirling grumbles, double-fisting Joe's shirt again as the pain flares up her back. "Can I never catch a break? Bloody helllll!"

* * *

It takes no time at all for word to spread through Portwenn that Stirling has gone into labour. Alex is soon on the surgery telephone relating the story of the great pharmacy flood disaster to anyone she can reach.

"Claudie just walked Doc Stirling right out the front door, leaving Mrs. Tischell with the clean-up job," she tells Morwenna with a giggle. "Now I think the crazy nutter's bringing in a professional decontamination crew. She's been closed for the past hour."

Morwenna laughs. "How did Joe handle the excitement?"

"Well, according to Reagan, a mate of PC Garrett's stationed at Wadebridge rang him about an hour ago to say they've received 10 complaints so far about the Sergeant's driving display through the village. But Doc Brian says they obviously made it to the hospital in one piece. He's been getting updates from a nurse he knows in the maternity ward."

"Well, keep me informed."

* * *

The Doc is contemplating a CT scan on his computer while enjoying a salad when his office phone rings.

"Ellingham," he barks.

"How's she doing?" Louisa asks breathlessly.

"How's who doing?"

"Stirling!"

"I have no idea. Why don't you call the police station and find out. Joe must know. Dr. Aylesworth is probably at home, anyway."

"No, they're both at the Truro hospital. Her water broke at Mrs. Tischell's just before lunch."

"Hmmmmm," he murmurs, leaning in to look closely at the scan on his screen.

"Are you going to check?"

"Check what?"

"Check on Stirling!"

"I'm sure she's fine, Louisa."

"But has she had the baby yet?"

"Eventually."

Louisa slams down the telephone with a grunt of disgust.

"Louisa? Louisa?"

* * *

Stirling manages to spend about five minutes on the ball, bouncing her body up and down plus doing circles, trying to coax the baby's head down against her cervix. As she leans forward against Joe, Emmie works massaging her back, trying to help her relax.

"I think I need to walk now," she finally moans, trying to lift herself by climbing hand over hand up Joe's shirt. She manages to pull off his tie during one of her grabs. She nonchalantly crumples it up in a ball and shoves it in his front trouser pocket, making him squirm.

"Sorry," she grumbles, head butting his chest as her back grinds with pain.

"Careful," Emmie says, easing her up at the waist as Joe lifts her under the arms.

She leans her head on his shoulder, her eyes closed, resting her exhausted body for a moment. She feels his lips brush against her sweaty brow, making her smile. "You're doing fantastic, Cheeky," he whispers in her ear.

"You're such a liar," she mutters, relaxing her body further against him. She feels a sudden shift in her pelvis that makes her keen in pain just as a strong contraction engulfs her body. "Uuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhh."

"Keep breathing," Emmie urges, pushing her knuckles hard into Stirling's back. "In and out, in and out."

At the crest of the contraction, she moans loudly, pushing her head hard against Joe's chest, almost knocking him backwards. He pets her hair, whispering encouragement softly in her ear.

"That was excellent," says Emmie, as the contraction finally eases. "He dropped further with that one. Try walking now."

Stirling slowly moves forward, leaning some of her weight against Joe as he supports her left side. She can feel the pressure building in her bottom, making her waddle even more. She manages to make it out into the hall just as the next contraction begins. She turns toward her husband, bracing her arms against his shoulders while pressing the top of her head against his chest.

Joe grunts as Stirling pushes her weight against him. _I'm going to have a bruise the size of her head in the centre of my chest by the time this baby arrives_. He shudders as she keens with pain, rubbing his hand hard against her spine.

Time seems to narrow down to three to four minute increments as they slowly walk up and down the hall outside the delivery rooms, stopping frequently to allow Stirling to breath through a contraction. Every 30 minutes, they pause for an assessment from Dr. Silva on how the labour is progressing. Joe is amazed how small their universe becomes as they concentrate on working through one contraction at a time. As the day passes, they establish a rhythm – pain, doubt, encouragement, complaining, encouragement, acceptance, pain.

"I'm not sure I can make it through the next one," she pants as the last contraction eases.

"You can do it," he says firmly but softly as he supports her down the hall, her right hand bracing periodically against the wall for balance.

"It bloody well hurts" she says, leaning her head against his shoulder for a moment.

He presses a damp, cold cloth against her forehead and she relaxes for a moment, sighing with pleasure. "That feels wonderful."

"Do you want an ice chip?" He presses a freezing, dripping piece against her dry lips and she slurps it into her mouth.

"Thank you," she mumbles before crunching the ice between her teeth, sucking on the melting shards before swallowing them down. "Do you think they have any more flavoured ice lollies?"

He tries not to laugh at her eager tone, which reminds him of a child begging for afters. "I'll ask next time I see Emmie."

"Thank you." She shifts toward the wall, bending over and bracing her hands against it. "Can you rub my back? It's grinding something fierce."

He presses his thumbs hard against her spine up and down her back. She groans with pleasure.

"Thank you. Thank you. It feels fantastic." She presses her right cheek against the cool wall and sighs before standing upright.

Joe stares at the front of her hospital gown, which has two evenly spaced wet patches. "Uuuhmm, your front's wet," he says uncertainly.

Stirling looks down curiously. "Oh, my breasts are leaking."

He feels strangely aroused by this fact but fights it down. "Already? I thought it took a few days for your milk to come in."

"It's not milk. It's colostrum, first milk."

"Oh, look at you," says Dr. Silva, noting Stirling's wet front as she walks up. "You're body is ready for this baby. I'll have Emmie fetch you a fresh gown. Let's see how you're progressing."

The couple pause for a minute just outside the delivery room to work through another contraction before they shuffle in. Stirling eyes the birthing bed warily. "Can you assess me standing up or on the birthing ball? My back hurts so badly; I'm afraid to lie down."

"We can give it a try," Dr. Silva says, directing Joe to support Stirling from behind as she squats on the birthing ball. The doctor has her tip her pelvis forward and roll the ball up her lower back slightly as she leans back, opening her pelvic area for examination.

"Good job, Stirling. You're eight centimetres dilated. And you've managed to get this baby to drop quite a bit. Just a bit further to go before you can start pushing."

Stirling groans with disappointment as Joe helps her up on her feet. "Why is this reminding me of a sunny Saturday morning of patient visits at the surgery? Is it ever going to end?"

Dr. Silva lets out a loud blast of laughter. "I've had some Saturday mornings like that."

"I want to see and hold my baby!" Stirling whines impatiently, feeling a strange urge to stamp her foot in anger. She turns and presses her face into Joe's less than pristine uniform shirt, now wrinkled almost beyond repair. _Damn, he smells so good!_

"I want to see him, too," Joe whispers in her ear, making her smile. "He'll get here when he – ummm – wants to get here?"

Stirling fights back a laugh. "Based on these excruciating pains I'm currently experiencing, I'd say he wants to get here now."

"I have an idea," Dr. Silva says. "How do you feel about water?"

Stirling almost gives herself whiplash turning to look at the doctor. "I love it," she whispers raptly, suddenly dreaming of floating on her back in a tranquil sea, jacuzzi power jets pulsing rhythmically against her spine. _Hell, at this point, I'd welcome a blast from the pull out sprayer on the kitchen sink. Or a squirt from a water pistol._

"Let's take you down to the pool room and get you set up. There's an exercise I'd like you to try to see if we can get this wee one's head all the way down and your cervix fully open. The water usually helps the mums relax. And I think there's even a gas set-up in that room to take the edge off the contractions."

Stirling is practically weeping with joy at the idea of sitting immersed in warm water. She leans against Joe, surprising him with a kiss. "The bastards have been holding out on us," she says. "They have warm water. In a large basin that I can actually fit in."

It takes five contractions before the pool is ready for Stirling.

Dr. Silva gives her a couple of blasts of gas while they wait, at the same time instructing Joe how to administer it. When he finally helps Stirling step into the water, she is shaking with excited anticipation. Even with just the bottom half of her legs immersed, she moans with delight, closing her eyes in rapt pleasure.

Joe helps ease her further down into the tub, surprised at how vocal she becomes as the warm water slowly covers her skin.

"This is fecking amazing," she sighs, leaning back against the side in front of him. "You should shuck your kit off and get your arse in here, Lover Boy. We could have some fun."

Dr. Silva and Emmie both giggle as they watch her snuggle her head against him.

Joe looks up at them in surprise. "What the hell is in that gas?"

"Good shit," Stirling mutters.

"Don't worry," Emmie says, rolling a weighted birthing ball through the water toward them. "It wears off fast."

Already Stirling is starting to pant with pain as a contraction bears down on her. She reaches madly for Joe's hand, seizing it in a vice-like grip. He flinches.

"Let her have a bit more of the gas," Dr. Silva instructs.

Joe helps Stirling hold the mask over her nose and mouth and opens the valve, letting her take two deep breathes. He closes the gas flow and takes the mask from her lax fingers. She gives him a wobbly smile.

"I love you," she says. "You smell so good. And you look so fecking hot in your uniform. The day you pulled me over on the moor – oh my god, that was so amazing."

"I don't think I should let her have anymore," Joe says as the doctor and nurse try hard not to laugh.

"I love your handcuffs and your really big baton."

"Bloody hell!" Joe says as she tries to pull him in the tub.

"I think we should try for another baby right away," she whispers, grabbing the collar of his shirt and giving him a kiss.

"Alright, Dr. Aylesworth, that's enough of that," Dr. Silva says, attracting Stirling's attention away from Joe. "I want you to sit on your bum and open your legs, pressing the soles of your feet together. That's it, perfect."

She rolls the weighted birthing ball in between Stirling's legs. "Now, hug the ball against your chest and wiggle from side to side. Joe, you support her left and Emmie, you hold her right. Exactly."

Stirling shifts her body continuously from side to side until the next contraction.

"I think they should make bacon flavoured ice lollies," she states after taking another hit of gas. "Or maybe ice water flavoured."

"That's it, just relax" soothes Emmie, easing Stirling's head back against the side of the tub. "Let your body take over."

"Maybe we could flavour the bath water. Hot chocolate!" Stirling says breathlessly, suddenly wanting some. "Marshmallows!"

As the contraction eases, she wraps her arms back around the large ball, resting her left cheek against the top while shifting her body back and forth. Suddenly, she feels movement deep in her pelvis followed by an intense build up of pressure in her bottom. The familiar cramping twinges that mark the start of a contraction begin. But this one is different.

"I need to push!" she wails as the wave of pain and pressure builds, higher than ever before. "Right now!"

Joe's stomach wobbles with excitement, clutching Stirling's body backwards against his chest. _The baby's coming!_

Dr. Silva moves quickly, shoving the birthing ball out of the way. "Just wait, love. Don't push. Just pant through it. You can do it."

She reaches deep under the surface and checks the panting woman's cervix, smiling as her fingers touch something hard and unyielding.

"Good job, mum! He's here and ready to make his grand entrance."

She grabs one of Stirling's hands and pulls it below the water, helping her feel the baby's head poking against her fully dilated cervix.

Stirling laughs, her eyes wide with excitement. "I can feel him," she says with a trembling voice, turning to look at her husband. "I can feel him. And he has hair."

Joe laughs, feeling a tear drop from one of his eyes. He kisses her cheek as he presses his head up beside hers. "I can't wait to see our beautiful baby," he whispers in her ear.

She grunts as another contraction builds.

"Okay, Stirling, you're going to start pushing with this one," the doctor explains. "Take a deep breath, tuck your chin against your chest and push in to your bottom for a count of 10. You can help count, daddy."

Joe counts slowly as Stirling grits her teeth and pushes, her eyes tightly scrunched shut. She groans with the effort.

"And again," Dr. Silva urges.

Stirling takes another deep breath and pushes more, Joe starting his count over.

"You're doing excellent. Keep pushing like that, mum."

Soon, the contractions are coming one on top of the other and Stirling can feel exhaustion creeping over her. She gasps with delight as the sweet goodness of an orange ice lolly hits her lips and she sucks on it greedily.

"Just a little bit, love," Joe whispers. "Not too much. Don't choke."

She wails as a wave of pain surges again and the ice lolly disappears.

"Push, Stirling, push!" Dr. Silva orders.

"Push, Cheeky," Joe says softly in her left ear. "Push. He's almost here."

Stirling closes her eyes and crawls further within herself. Soon, her world is just darkness and what she can feel, hear, taste and smell – the pain of contractions, the sound of counting and encouragement, the saltiness of blood where she's bit the inside of her lip and the scent of Joe, which thankfully overpowers the hospital smell. And all she can do is push – push, push, push.

"Stop!" she hears Dr. Silva order and she does, panting as the pain cascades over her.

"Oh my god!" she hears Joe say. "Open your eyes, Cheeky. Look!"

She doesn't want to. She is so tired and she's been working so hard, concentrating on the voices and the pushing and the pain and dreaming about seeing her baby – she doesn't want to open her eyes.

"I just want to see our baby," she murmurs.

"Then open your eyes," he says excitedly, kissing her left temple. "Open your eyes and look down."

At first it's too bright to see anything, even though the lights have been dimmed in the room. She does as Joe suggest, she looks down. It's through the water she sees a head – a huge head, with a shock of black hair on top and a pushed-in, scrunched up purplish face covered in vernix. It's the most beautiful thing she's ever seen.

"Cor blimey!" She marvels, her eyes huge. "Is that him?"

Dr. Silva laughs. "Yes, that's the little blighter. He came posterior so he could get a good look at you. And next contraction, you're going to give me the biggest push you can so we get him out of there and you can hold him."

The doctor's hands are busy under the water, shifting the baby's head in preparation for the next contraction to help ease the delivery of his wider shoulders.

"Let's do this!" Stirling says with steely resolve, feeling a renewed sense of energy as her teeth chatter with excitement.

As the pain returns, she tucks her chin and pushes on command, listening to Joe softly encourage her. But this time, she keeps her eyes open, unwilling to look away from that face.

"Reach down," she hears Dr. Silva say. She dips her hands down through the water, carefully cradling the little form. She lifts him away from her body and upwards.

And then she's holding him, tucking his body close against her bare chest. The pain is gone. Dr. Silva and Emmie have disappeared into the background. There is just this little wise, old man face looking up at her and Joe.

"Hello little man," she says softly, tears drip down her cheeks. "You're beautiful."

"Just like your mummy," Joe adds, completely in awe of the little being Stirling is now holding.

The dark eyes blink at them and he yawns, letting out a little mew that makes her uterus clench and breasts tingle. She shivers uncontrollably and so does he, his face wrinkling into a scowl as he gives a lusty cry.

"He might be cold," Emmie says softly, placing a warmed blanket over him and tucking it around his little body. "Why don't you try nursing him?"

She helps Stirling sit up and position the baby near her right breast. Emmie gently rubs one of her fingers against his cheek and he immediately turns his face toward the nipple, opening his mouth and rooting. Stirling gasps as he latches on and sucks, a strong contraction shuddering through her body.

"Oh my god," she says, revelling in the strange feelings and emotions cascading through her body. She looks up at Joe, who stares in silent amazement at his little family.

"You're a natural," says Emmie with a smile. "We'll give you a little bonding time but then we're going to need to clean you both up a little bit. But you just relax for now. His nursing may even help deliver the placenta a bit faster."

For five minutes, Joe sits on the edge of the tub and watches Stirling feed their baby, his heart growing fuller and fuller every minute he watches them. Eventually, the little fellow drops off her nipple, sated and groggy, and Dr. Silva and Emmie step back into action. After cutting the cord, Joe's not sure what to do as a new nurse walks away with his son while the doctor and Emmie work on cleaning up Stirling.

"Go with the baby," she urges as his eyes widen watching the obstetrician thread a suturing needle. "She's just going to put a couple of stitches in after I deliver the placenta. It's all blood and guts and boring. Go watch Mason have his first bath. Take some photos. Phone everyone. You're not going to want to watch this."

He bends over and kisses her, relieved to be provided clearance to flee. "I love you," he tells her softly. "You're amazing – amazing."

In the nursery, Joe watches as Mason is weighed, measured, poked and prodded, everything dutifully noted and recorded, including his first horrifying-looking bowel movement. The proud father then helps one of the nurses – Sandy – bath his son, who soon lets the entire ward know he's not fond of being cleaned.

After Mason's clean, dried and diapered, Sandy shows Joe how to swaddle him properly in a blanket and then nestles the little baby in his arms. Cradling the sleeping baby close to his chest, the new father is speechless, his eyes shiny with unshed tears of joy.

"Aren't they cute," one of the nurses says, gesturing toward the pair, Joe swaying Mason gently back and forth in a rocking chair in a quiet corner of the nursery.

"First-time daddy," Sandy explains, smiling. "Completely smitten. Mum had a water birth and is still being fixed up. One of Dr. Silva's high-risk pregnancies. A GP from Portwenn. People have been phoning asking about them all afternoon, driving switchboard batty."

* * *

It's after Louisa's third phone call demanding news that the Doc agrees to wander down to labour and delivery before driving home.

"They aren't releasing any news until they have clearance from the family," Louisa explains. "No one has heard anything for a few hours. Doc Brian's contact on the ward is off-shift now. You have to find out. The town is waiting!"

"Why can't they just wait until Joe phones?" he asks.

"Martin! Just check on them. Please!"

He's muttering to himself as he walks through the large hospital, swinging his doctor's bag aggressively with every long step. He slows as he enters the labour and delivery plus maternity area, noticing a small gaggle of nurses accumulated outside the nursery.

"What's going on here?" he demands, causing several to scatter out of his way like hens.

"Good evening, doctor," Sandy says with a smile. Dr. Ellingham and his brusk reputation are well-known throughout the hospital, including the maternity ward. "I don't normally see you down in these parts."

He clears his throat self consciously. "My wife asked me to check on someone who was admitted in labour earlier this afternoon. Dr. Stirling Aylesworth from Portwenn?"

Sandy laughs. "We've just been enjoying the first-time daddy entertainment," she says, gesturing into the nursery.

The Doc walks in and watches in wide-eyed amazement as Joe performs an elaborate dance routine in the corner, trying to soothe the whimpering baby in his arms. He's just dipped the baby when he looks up and notices he has an audience.

"Hey Doc," he says with a big grin, literally waltzing over.

"Joe."

"Did you come to meet the new arrival?" he says beaming proudly.

"Louisa was worried. She hadn't heard any news."

"This is Mason Joseph Aylesworth Penhale. He arrived at 4:49 p.m. and weighs 3.9 kilograms."

The Doc examines the bundle in Joe's arms. "He looks like you."

Joe looks down at the baby, unconvinced. "Really? I think he looks more like Stirling."

"Where is Dr. Aylesworth?"

"They're just moving her into a room. We've been waiting to hear when she's settled. Someone's looking forward to his tea."

As if waiting for his signal, Mason lets out a cry of hunger, which prompts Joe to start dancing again.

The group of nurses watching from the doorway let out a collective sigh. "He wears a uniform and he can dance," one of them says breathlessly to the woman next to her, causing the Doc to glare over his shoulder.

"Actually, I think your wife is settled in now, Sergeant," Sandy says, hanging up the nursery telephone. "If you want to follow me."

The nurses scatter as the Doc strides out into the hall, followed closely by Sandy and Joe plus baby. A few turns later, they enter a private room with a relaxing view of a green area next to the hospital. Stirling sits cross-legged in the bed, wearing a jim-jam set from her bag, sipping a glass of ice water. Her face lights up as she sees Joe and the baby walk through the doorway.

"There you are!" she exclaims excitedly, holding out her arms.

"He's missing his mum," Joe says, setting the whimpering baby in her arms.

She cuddles Mason close, kissing his head. "You smell all clean. Did daddy help get you all nice and clean?"

She's unbuttoning her top as the Doc enters. He instantly turns his back to the maternal scene, embarrassed.

"Chief!" Stirling says with surprise as Sandy helps her get Mason situated on her left breast. She gasps as he latches, not sure if she'll ever get used to that feeling. "Did you see Mason?"

"Yes, Joe introduced us," he says, swaying back and forth on his toes, his doctor's bag bumping against his legs nervously.

"Come have a seat," she says, settling comfortably against the raised back of the bed, watching her baby nurse hungrily. "Relax."

"I should go. I don't want to intrude."

Stirling fights back a smile, knowing he's uncomfortable with the situation. "I'm all covered up; I promise. You won't see anything."

He turns slowly, glancing quickly over his shoulder, ready to avert his gaze if he needs to. But as Stirling said, her left side is now covered with a nursing shawl. He slowly relaxes, setting his doctor's bag down by the door, before sitting in one of the guest chairs. Joe sits in a chair on the other side of the bed, leaning forward with his elbows on the mattress, his eyes never leaving his wife.

"Louisa has been worried about you. She's been calling me all afternoon wanting word. I promised her I'd come and see how you are."

Stirling turns to look at Joe. "Didn't you call everyone?"

He looks up, blushing. "I forgot. I was busy bathing Mason. And then he fell asleep. And then he woke up and was fussy. It slipped my mind."

She smiles. She's riding such an amazing post-delivery hormonal high, she feels like she could never be cross about anything ever again. "That's okay. I'll start calling after he's done feeding."

She turns back to face the Doc. "I'll contact Louisa first thing, Chief."

He arches his eyebrows in surprise. _Motherhood obviously agrees with Dr. Aylesworth. This is the most relaxed she's been in weeks._ Of course, thinking back, he also remembers how Louisa acted during those heady first days before the baby blues and sleep deprivation set in. _This, too, shall pass_.

They're all startled by a soft knock on the door. "Sorry to disturb you," Sandy says with a smile. "But the switchboard has been inundated with telephone calls all day from people wanting to know how you're doing. I was wondering if it was now okay to release information to callers?"

Stirling fights back a giggle as she watches Joe squirm, the trouble his absent-mindedness has caused now being realized.

"Certainly."

She chats with the Doc for a few more minutes before he excuses himself to start his long drive home to Portwenn.

She giggles when she notices Joe passed out in his chair, his head and upper body stretched across the end of her hospital bed. Meanwhile, Mason is also asleep, cuddled up against her left breast. She adjusts her clothing back into place before lying back against her pillows, her baby cradled comfortably between her breasts.

Stirling's smiling, thinking about her pair of exhausted men, as she reaches for her mobile and starts making phone calls.


	59. Chapter 59

Joe watches Stirling from the corner of his eye as they drive down the motorway. His heart is pounding in excitement. He's bringing his little family home. And he can't wait for his wife to see the finished nursery.

He's looking forward to seeing it himself since he directed most of the work via his mobile from the hospital. For the past two days, PC Garrett, Reagan, Al and Morwenna have been busy finishing the work that had ground to a halt while Stirling was on bed rest.

Joe had tried to finish the decorating himself but had found it impossible to get anything done with Stirling watching and directing his every move.

"Aren't you going to tape off that moulding?" she'd asked him as he attempted to do the close-up painting around the windows and doors while she watched from a chair.

"I wasn't planning on," he'd answered from the ladder he was balancing on.

"I think you should."

"It will take too much time. Anyway, as I'm sure you're well aware, I have an incredibly steady hand."

Despite his cocky claim, he could feel Stirling's eyes burning into his back as he reached out with the brush. And then his nerves of steel had shattered, causing his hand to shake and splatter paint down the wall. "Shite!"

That was when she'd muttered something he couldn't hear.

"What did you say?" he'd asked, turning to face her. He hadn't been expecting the ladder to tip, sending him down on his arse and spilling the rest of the paint down the wall.

That little mishap had set work back two days while the wall was stripped, sanded and primed – again.

She hadn't even trusted him to construct the flatpack furniture.

"Just set me up in the corner here with a screwdriver and I'll do it," she said as she watched him puzzle over the assembly directions to the cot.

"No. You're supposed to be resting. Nothing strenuous, remember?"

"It's not strenuous."

Joe definitely thought it was as he tried to understand the primitive construction drawings. It took him three tries reading through the directions before he grasped what he was supposed to do. At least, he thought he had.

"That's not how it goes together," Stirling said patiently.

"But that's what the instructions say to do."

"No, it isn't."

"How would you know?"

"I read them online."

"Maybe they're not for the same cot."

"They are."

"Bloody hell, Stirling!" he said, tempted to throw the screwdriver through the window. He'd taken a deep breath. "Okay genius, then how am I supposed to build the damn thing?"

He'd watched in disbelief as she took everything he'd done apart and started over again. It had taken her less than 10 minutes to build the cot and she hadn't looked at the directions once. Of course, it had been perfectly constructed, an exact replica of the one in the photo on the outside of the box.

The rest of the flatpack furniture had remained untouched in its boxes.

But now, according to PC Garrett, the nursery is finished. And it's perfect. Joe can't wait to see Stirling's face when she sees it.

At the moment, her face is twisted into a goofy look as she talks to Mason, who is buckled into his baby car seat. It's been strapped into the centre of the Land Rover's front bench seat. As Stirling talks, the little fellow appears to be watching her with his huge, greenish-brown eyes – Joe's eyes. One look at the black-haired, three-day old baby and there's not much doubt who his father is.

"We'll be home soon and after we get settled in, you can have a little nap."

"I wouldn't mind a nap," Joe admits.

Stirling laughs. "I was talking to Mason. Isn't daddy silly? He's silly!"

"I really want to have a nap with you – badly."

She looks across the baby seat at him and feels it – arousal, deep and needy. For the last few days, she's been basking in a hormonal bath of euphoria. But along with it came a sexual hunger she hasn't really felt since she was a teenager fumbling in the back seat of luxury sports cars or snogging in the barn hayloft. She's starving but she can't eat – not yet.

"I'd love to be in bed with you, Lover Boy. But I'm afraid it will have to be a nap – and a nap only – for a few weeks," she says.

He's silent for a few moments, appearing to concentrate on the road ahead.

"How long?"

"Four to six weeks."

He turns and looks at her, wide-eyed. "Bloody hell!"

"Have a care, Joe!"

He looks back at the road and curses, turning the wheel and braking sharply to avoid rear-ending the lorry that's suddenly ahead of them. He soon has the vehicle back under control.

"Do you need me to drive?"

He gives her an annoyed glance. "No, I'm fine."

"Daddy's grumpy because he's randy," she says to Mason, tickling at his belly. "And he can't get any because mummy's out of commission for another four to six weeks. Do you think I should help him out? Give him a helping hand? What do you think?"

"Stirling! I'm sitting right here. And do you think you should be talking to him like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like about – s-e-x."

She laughs. "He's three days old! He doesn't understand a thing I'm saying."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do."

"Well, I don't think it's appropriate to be discussing our sex life with our three-day-old son."

"You mean lack of sex life."

"Thanks for reminding me."

"Why can't I discuss it with him? Are you worried his first word is going to be masturbate?" She pauses for a moment, thinking. "Personally, I'd be really impressed if that was his first word. That's 10 letters. Much better than hand job – that's only seven. Although, technically that would be two words. And I'd much prefer he learn the proper term for actions rather than slang. There will be lots of time later to learn words like tosser and wanker. Or jerkin' the gherkin."

Joe glances over at Stirling with concern. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Brilliant!" She shoots him her best innocent smile.

They drive in silence for a few minutes, Joe occasionally shooting a glance her way. She fights to keep from laughing.

"Daddy thinks mummy's a nutter. Daft as a brush, barmy, totally hatstand, crazy as a bag of ferrets, two cans short of a picnic, loopy, sixpence short of a shilling – "

"At the moment, yes, I do," he admits with a laugh.

"I'm just very, very happy," she says, leaning back against the Land Rover seat with a sigh. "And excited. We're almost home, little man. Yes, we are. And mummy is so, so tired of hospital food."

Stirling is blissfully imagining her mother's Yorkshire pudding smothered in beef gravy when Joe pulls into the police station car park. She frowns, looking around.

"I thought PC Garrett had been called in," she says, climbing down from the vehicle. She turns to get Mason but Joe has already unbuckled the seat and carried it out his side.

"He was," he says, stopping at the rear of the Land Rover. He hands her the car seat as he fumbles to gather the luggage and other items from the back of the vehicle.

"Well, I don't see his car,"

"Maybe he was called out."

Joe grunts under the weight of his first load, which includes Stirling and Mason's luggage, a bag of last-minute baby supplies, a breastfeeding pillow, a handful of helium-filled balloons and a very, very large stuffed bear.

"Oh my goodness!" she says, trying hard not to laugh. "Maybe you should have considered breaking it down into several loads."

"I did! I still have three more trips to make."

Joe staggers ahead of her to open the door, even though she tries to reach for the door knob first.

"I've got it, I've got it," he says. "You go first – you have the precious cargo."

Stirling walks through into their home and sighs with contentment. "Home sweet home, little man," she says, setting the car seat on the kitchen table. She's about to unbuckle the baby and lift him out when she hears a strange noise behind her.

"Cheeky. Cheeky. Help!"

She laughs as she discovers poor Joe trapped in the front vestibule, unable to fit the numerous items he's carrying through the doorway. He's also managed to trap half the helium balloons on the wrong side of the door.

"Let me take that," she says, grabbing the handles of several bags plus the bear. She sets the bags on the table beside Mason and plunks the bear in a chair.

"Leave it to Uncles Michael and Christopher to find a life-sized grizzly bear and send it to you," she says to the baby as he watches her every move. "If it wasn't so adorable, I'd think Michael hunted it down, shot it and stuffed it himself."

"How do you know I didn't?"

Stirling screams and jumps, spinning around to face the doorway to the lounge. She instantly takes an attack stance – feet shoulder width apart, knees bent, hands at the ready, prepared to maim or kill anyone who tries to come near her baby.

"Surprise!" And suddenly her house appears to be filled with people – a lot of people. Most of the village has managed to cram itself into their wee lounge, popping out just as Michael blew their cover.

"Welcome home Ling-Ling and Mason," the barrister shouts, a cigar in his mouth and his arms spread wide in welcome. Not surprising, there's a Scotch glass clasped in his hand. Close beside him stands Christopher, beaming like a proud uncle, while Leyland tries his best to disappear into the crowd of people spilling into the kitchen.

Overwhelmed by the noise and fuss, Mason begins to cry, forcing Stirling to turn her back on the well-wishers as she fumbles with his car seat. She cradles the baby against her chest, her breasts aching as his cries echo in her ears.

"Blimey!" Joe says as he stands in the doorway, the outside door slamming behind him. His arms are full of flowers.

"Did you know about this?" she asks, turning to him.

"No! No one tells me anything!"

"There's the proud daddy!" Michael says, descending on an unprepared Joe. He pulls a cigar from inside his suit jacket and immediately shoves it in the surprised police sergeant's mouth. "Someone get this man a drink. He's several toasts behind."

Within seconds, the flowers have been removed from Joe's arms and he's holding a tumbler of Scotch instead. With Michael's arm firmly around his shoulders, he finds himself being herded into the lounge where a group of men – including Christopher, the Doc, PC Garrett, Al, Bert, Leyland and several other men from the village – have gathered.

"It's time to wet the baby's head!" Christopher proclaims, raising his martini glass.

Meanwhile, Stirling finds herself surrounded by a chattering, cooing flock of women, all wanting to admire and hold her squalling baby. She's feeling slightly overwhelmed when she realizes the front of her shirt is quickly dampening as her milk releases, prompted by Mason's escalating cries.

"I need to feed him," she says quietly to Louisa, who is standing next to her, holding little Sarah.

The two women look each other in the eyes for a few seconds. Louisa smiles and gives her a wink. "I'll handle it."

Michael is in the middle of some long-winded, rambling toast involving bawdy quotes from Chaucer when Louisa steps into the lounge. "Okay boys, out you go," she says loudly. "The guest of honour needs to use the lounge."

"What?" Michael asks.

"Out you go. Mason's hungry and needs a feeding. You can go in the back garden and smoke your smelly cigars and brag about your male prowess. Don't forget your drinks. Away with you."

"Why do we need to leave?" Christopher asks, baffled, carrying his martini shaker under his arm.

"Stirling's not going to feed the baby with all you men gawking at her. Now go!"

Louisa makes shooing actions with her arms as she herds the men into the kitchen and through the back door into the garden.

"Are Stirling and Mason okay? Does she need anything? A glass of water?" Joe asks, trying to fight against the flow.

"She's fine. It's all under control. Out you go."

Joe reluctantly turns and walks outside.

"I'm not really sure what all the fuss is about," Michael says, gripping his bottle of Scotch as Leyland and Louisa push him toward the open door. He turns to look behind him. "Ling-Ling, I'm pretty sure everyone here has already seen your Bristols."

He's laughing uproariously as the pair finally get him through the door.

"I'll do my best to keep them all in the back garden, Miss Louisa," Leyland says as he follows close behind.

"Thank god for Leyland," Louisa says as she shuts the back door with a bang, resting her back against it for a moment.

It's then she notices her husband, who has pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and sat down with his own glass of water.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm just going to sit in here," the Doc says, taking a sip from his drink.

"Up you get," Louisa says, grabbing his arm and encouraging him from the chair. She leads him to the back door. "Out you go."

"What?"

"Go outside and play with the other boys. Make some friends. Do some male bonding. Help Leyland mind the rest of them. I don't care. But you can't stay in here."

"Louisa, I – "

"Out!"

She tries not to smile as he walks reluctantly out into the back garden, James Henry trailing behind him. "And keep an eye on your little shadow. No cigars for him!"

She shuts the door with a laugh.

Stirling settles into her comfy chair and unbuttons her shirt, closing her eyes and sighing with relief as the baby latches on hungrily and silence descends. She's startled when she opens her eyes and finds a half circle of women sitting around her, all watching with smiles and dreamy eyes.

_Oh my god!_

"He looks just like Joe," Louisa says as she takes Sarah from Reagan.

Several other women chime in, all agreeing.

"He does," Stirling says with a smile. "It's the eyes. You have your daddy's eyes, don't you little man?"

Morwenna giggles. "Doc Stirling sweet-talking to a baby. That's something I thought I'd never see."

"Leave her alone. It's cute," says Reagan with a smile. "I was so relieved to hear Joe made it through the delivery without fainting."

"Of course he did," Stirling says with a frown. "Why would he faint?"

"You haven't heard the story? Arthur was telling it to me the other day. Joe's famous at the Bude station for being called to assist a lady delivering her baby in a cab. I guess he fainted as soon as the pushing started. Another officer had to help the paramedics deliver the baby. Joe ended up being taken to hospital with a concussion in the same ambulance as the new mum and baby."

_He's never told me that story._

"You must be glad to be home," Claudie says as she bounces Rowenna on her knee.

"I am. But there's so much work still to be done. We haven't even finished decorating the nursery yet. I'm hoping I can get to it in a few weeks after things settle down a bit."

Most of the women sitting around her laugh.

"What?"

"You might not have that nursery finished for 18 or so years if you're planning on waiting until things settle down," Alex chimes in. "My Aunt Teresa still doesn't have her nursery decorated. And her youngest just had twins."

Stirling pales.

"Stop scaring her," Louisa says. "You don't even have children, Alex. How would you know?"

"I'm the youngest of eight. I was born a bloody aunt – that's how I know. And the nursery I spent my first two years in wasn't decorated either."

"Well, little Mason has nothing to worry about – his nursery is finished," Morwenna proclaims proudly.

Every head in the room turns to look at her.

"Morwenna!" Reagan says loudly. "You were supposed to keep your gob shut!"

Stirling feels a knot of apprehension form in her stomach. "What are you two talking about?"

"Nothing!" says Morwenna quickly, standing up to walk a fussing Albie around the room.

The anxiety in Stirling's stomach builds. "Reagan?"

The dark-haired girl fidgets under her steady gaze. She glares over at Morwenna. "I can't believe you opened your mouth! He wanted to surprise her!"

"Who wanted to surprise me?"

"Joe. He arranged to have us finish decorating the nursery for you. We got it done last night."

Stirling is now feeling positively nauseous. "Joe arranged this?"

"Yes. He knew you were upset about not having the nursery finished and he wanted to have it done before you came home from the hospital. So Arthur, Al, Morwenna and I volunteered our services to get it done."

"That's incredibly sweet of both you and him," Stirling says, her emotions teetering on the edge. She has a huge lump in her throat at the thought of Joe and their friends going out of their way to make her happy. But she's also nervous about what the room looks like.

She smiles down as Mason drops her nipple, temporarily sated. She rearranges her nursing bra and clothing, putting herself in order, before propping the little baby against her shoulder with a burping pad.

"I can't wait to see the work you've done," she says, patting her little boy's back gently, rubbing in circles occasionally.

Once she's finished burping Mason, she smiles as the women fight over who will hold him first.

"He looks just like the sergeant," Alex says with a grin as she rocks him back and forth in her arms. "Exactly. Even his ears."

As the group oohs and aahs over her little boy, Stirling stands up with a sigh. "I think I'm going to check out the nursery."

She's halfway up the stairs before Reagan and Morwenna clue in to what she's doing.

"Doc Stirling, wait!" Reagan calls, trotting quickly after her. "I think you should wait until Joe comes in. He really wanted to surprise you."

"Don't worry, I can do surprised very well," Stirling says, reaching the top of the stairs and turning right, away from the master bedroom and the upstairs loo.

"I just want to say that I think the paint dried a bit darker than what we expected," Morwenna says, following after Reagan.

"Darker?" Stirling gasps as she opens the door and looks inside. She's speechless.

* * *

"Your glass is looking empty there, daddy," Michael says, pouring more Scotch into Joe's tumbler. "Wouldn't want you to be without anything to toast with."

The barrister is in his element, holding court in the police station's back garden, pouring drinks and teasing the new father mercilessly.

"So you made it through this one without fainting," PC Garrett says, elbowing Joe in the side.

"You heard about that."

"You're famous in Bude. They also like to tell the story about you and the pepper spray."

"Great!" Joe takes a big swallow from his glass, his eyes watering as the alcohol burns down his throat. "Cor! This is powerful stuff!"

"It's got a bite almost as bad as Stirling," Michael says, slapping him hard on the back. "She have you jumping around all over the place at her beck and call yet? She can be a hard taskmaster. She should have been in the Army, shouldn't she, Leyland?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Mr. Michael."

"He's always defending her," Michael says, whispering in Joe's ear. "She's always been his favourite."

"You must be at the midpoint of the great drought," Al says, tossing back a swallow before choking.

"Drought?" Joe asks. "What do you mean?"

"The rumpy-pumpy – it's all dried up," Tom Bishope says. "Has she given you the four to six weeks excuse yet? Doctor's orders, my arse. I think it's a ruse cooked up by the women."

"Good god!" mutters the Doc, glaring at Tom. "She is a doctor, you idiot! The doctor who took care of your wife's delivery and probably suggested the four to six week break from sexual intercourse to her in the first place."

"See what I mean! They're all in on it!"

"Complete moron," the Doc grumbles, quickly walking away.

"You're on your own now, mate," Al says unsteadily, taking another swallow of Michael's lethal drink. "High and dry. From now on, it's all about the other man in her life."

Joe's starting to feel a bit depressed as he looks into his half finished Scotch.

"Soon, you'll be dreaming about her calling your name. Oh Joe! Joe!"

The other men in the garden laugh at Al's antics.

"Thank god," PC Garrett says. "Maybe I can finally get some bloody sleep! Oh, Joe! Joe!" he adds in a falsetto voice.

More laughter.

"Joe! Joe!"

"That's a really good imitation," Joe says, looking up at the group in surprise.

"Joe!"

"I mean, that sounds exactly like Stirling!"

"Joseph Edward Penhale! Look up!"

Joe does as the uncannily familiar voice says and is surprised to see Stirling leaning out the open first floor window of the nursery. "Cheeky!" he says with a smile and a wave.

"Get your arse up here, Sergeant!" she shouts before slamming down the window.

It's suddenly completely silent in the garden.

"Oooooooooo! You're in trouble now!" Michael says before dissolving into a fit of giggles, clutching his Scotch bottle to his chest.

"Chop-chop, Sergeant. Better listen to the little missus," Christopher adds, leaning against Michael as he laughs.

Soon all of the men are taking the piss out of Joe as they push him toward the back door.

"Your master's calling," PC Garrett teases as they push him back through the doorway into the house and shut the door behind him.

Joe's surprised to find it just as loud indoors as it is outside. He pauses at the bottom of the stairs to look into the lounge. He watches as his son is traded from woman to woman, all of them talking at the same time. Despite the non-stop noise, the little fellow is sound asleep as Morwenna and Reagan fight over who's going to hold him next.

_Lucky little sprog._

Upstairs, Joe turns toward the nursery. "Cheeky?"

He pauses at the open doorway, his eyes wide in disbelief as he gazes about the room.

"It's beautiful."

He turns toward Stirling's voice. She's sitting in the glider rocker his brother, Sam, had bought for them and shipped from Bristol – flatpack.

"It's absolutely, positively, unbelievably, fantastically beautiful," she says, standing up and walking over to him. She leaps up and wraps her legs around Joe's waist, promptly knocking him over backwards on his arse. He lands with a loud thump, causing all the women downstairs to look up at the ceiling.

"Uh-oh," Morwenna says, looking at Reagan. "This has happened before. Whatever you do, don't have sex for the next week."

"I love you," Stirling says, as she sits on Joe's stomach, looking down at his grinning face as he lies flat on his back. "It's perfect."

She leans down and kisses him. "Hmmmmmm – Scotch," she murmurs before kissing him again.

"I'm glad you like it," he says against her lips.

"You did good, Sergeant." She kisses him for a third time.

"I thought you didn't like alcohol," he says softly.

"I'm allergic to alcohol and I can't drink it. I never said I didn't like the taste of it."

He arches his eyebrows at her. "You've never really explained to me what happens if you drink."

"Because you don't want to know," she whispers. "Really, you don't."

He reaches up and pulls her face down to his, kissing her. "You know what all the blokes out there are thinking right now?"

She shakes her head.

"They think you're up here riding my arse because I've messed up somehow."

She laughs. "Do they now?"

"They've told me I'm facing a drought of epic proportions in the rumpy-pumpy department and that I've been replaced – you have a new man in your life."

"Oh my god! What a bunch of depressing sods! What's in that Scotch Michael's dolling out?"

She stands up and reaches a hand down to help Joe to his feet.

"Come here," she says with a grin, walking over to the window.

"What?"

He watches curiously as Stirling raises the sash and sticks her head out the opening. Using her fingers, she gives a shrill whistle. Every head in the garden looks up.

"You wankers better toddle on home now," she says, giving a little wave. "The droughts over in this household. Ta!"

She shuts the window with a slam and pushes Joe's back up against the glass, kissing him hard and passionately. Even through the double panes, she can hear Michael's shout of laughter followed by boos and catcalls.

She laughs as she backs away from the window, pulling Joe with her by the hand. He yanks her toward him, hugging her close and kissing her cheek.

"You're really quite something, Dr. Aylesworth," he whispers in her ear.

They're still laughing as they come down the stairs together, hoping to rescue Mason from the mauling he's receiving. But they're distracted by a knock at the door.

"Wonder who that is?" Joe says with a grin. "Most of the bloody village is here already."

He opens the door and his grin fades slightly.

"Who is it?" Stirling asks, curiously pushing in beside him.

"Joey! Stirling!" Edna Penhale says with a tight smile. "It's been a few months. And you're still looking happy."

Joe's stomach drops. _Shite!_

"Hey sis! Joe," a second voice says. The couple turn their heads as one, eyes widening at the sight of Stirling's sister, Emily.

_Double shite!_

"What are you doing here!" Stirling demands, unable to control herself.

"We heard the news about the baby and, of course, had to come," Edna says, bending down to grab her suitcase before pushing past the shocked pair.

Emily follows close behind, dragging her own bag. "We thought you could use some extra help around the house. Until things settle down."

The two women drop their bags inside the front door and look toward the noise currently emanating from the lounge.

"Where's my little grandson?" Edna demands, making a beeline for the small crowd of women gathered around Mason. Emily rushes behind her.

Stirling and Joe stare at each other. "Bloody hell!" they whisper.

* * *

**Author's Note**

**I'm afraid this will be my last Stirling and Joe (and now, Mason) story for the next little while. I have been offered an opportunity to submit a manuscript to Harlequin and receive six months of one-on-one service and advice from a book editor with the company. I need to spend the next few months writing and editing my submission.**

**Hopefully, if the editors like what they read, I will be offered a publishing contract. Fingers crossed!**

**I will miss writing my Stirling and Joe stories. They have been very therapeutic for me and helped provide the self-confidence I needed to write and submit the book proposal to Harlequin. All of my readers and those who took time from their busy lives to comment and provide feedback have assisted me as well. Thank you very, very much!**

**I hope to return to Portwenn – well, my skewed version of the village – in the future. I have an idea for a third story; I even have a title picked (and, of course, it's a song)! Until then, I wish you all the best and thank you for your continued interest and support. It's meant the world to me.**


End file.
